One of the most glorious messes in the world is the mess created in the living
room on Christmas day. Don't clean it up too quickly. ~Andy Rooney
I feel like I really did Christmas this year. I started early, right after Thanksgiving, pondered presents, then bought and wrapped and shipped them. Christmas music played in the car and in the house every day. We decorated with our traditional Christmas decorations - the boy's advent calendar and stockings, our nativity figures, my little Mexican Santa candle, red and green mugs for hot chocolate, sparkling stars tucked in the poinsettia plant and icicle lights on the eves outside. Our family Christmas ornaments bedecked the tree.
In the last few weeks our home has been filled with dear friends and precious family, parties and food, laughter and conversation. It has been an incredibly rich holiday season.
The morning after Christmas, my son said he felt sad to have it all over. The anticipation, the surprises, the plans -done. Long, eventless and cold, January looms. He has post Christmas blues.
I am just the opposite. I wake up on December 26 with a feeling of euphoria. Like I just crossed the finish line of a half marathon. I did it! I succeeded! I survived! If I had my way, I would put Christmas away the night of the 25th. Ornaments wrapped, pine needles swept up, boxes and wrapping hauled to the dumpster. Everything back in the containers, then back to the crawl space for another year. My family makes me wait until New Years. So the mess stays for a few more days.
In chaplain training we talked a lot about becoming comfortable with the mess. An untimely passing, an hysterical family member, a demanding staff member, frequent grief. More importantly, we practiced being comfortable with our own mess. Our shadows, baggage and flaws. The parts of ourselves that we want to hide. But those very parts are what remind us of our need for a Savior and of God's continuous grace.
In Romans 3:23-26, Paul wrote a new perspective on the Christmas story. "Since we’ve ...proved that we are utterly incapable of living the glorious lives God wills for us, God did it for us. Out of sheer generosity he put us in right standing with himself. A pure gift. He got us out of the mess we’re in and restored us to where he always wanted us to be. And he did it by means of Jesus Christ." The Message Bible
I think that is why Andy Rooney's quote caught my attention this year. It reminded me that I am a glorious mess. A glorious mess redeemed in a manger, in a stable on Christmas day. Don't clean it up too quickly! Long after the tree is down I want that pure gift of Christmas to stay with me, unpacked and celebrated all year long.
Dr. Phil says everybody has a personal truth. A personal truth is what you believe about yourself when nobody's listening and nobody is watching.
I can't remember the first time I knew I wasn't cool. Maybe when I was around 7 and the cute little neighbor boy said he wanted to play with anyone but me. Maybe when I was in high school and most of the cool girls were on the basketball team and got to ride the sports bus with the boys. I couldn't dribble a ball to save my life. Maybe it sunk in during college when the cool kids went dancing all hours of the night in D.C. clubs. During the week they would laugh at first timers who had no rhythm. I shuddered to think what they would say if they saw me try to dance. And then as an adult while my friends would share stories of operating room adventures or elementary teaching trials, no one understood my excitement over planning a creative communion service or how I loved hunting for grace in the Old Testament. I have always had the most wonderful, super coolest friends. Beautiful, talented, interesting people I wanted to be more like in so many ways. But my personal truth of my uncoolness was reinforced all too regularly.
Then in the least cool move possible, at the end of my thirties, I exploded my life. Total destruction. I spent the next couple years swimming up from the abyss through miles of shame and regret. I spent the next couple years in a counselor's office and in Clinical Pastor Education, (chaplain training) which is basically therapy on speed. Where I was constantly asked questions like "What are your personal truths?" And "How is that working for you?"
That is where I realized, among other things, that I had lived the last 40 plus years with the belief that I was not cool. I had never realized it out loud before. But it made sense. I shared my epiphany with Steve, who had the nicest answer. He said "It's hard for me to believe that is one of your core issues, since you are one of the coolest people I know." I told him that was a sweet thing to say. And then blew him off. Because it's so obvious that I have never been thin enough, fashiony enough, techy enough, or arty enough to be cool no matter how much I wanted to be.
You know how people will say "so and so looks like an artist" because of their colorful hair or funky outfits? I'm pretty sure I look exactly like a hospice chaplain with a closet full of comfortable shoes and black sweaters. I download sermons to listen to for fun. I love washing my car. The most exciting thing I can imagine is to crawl into a hot bath with a new magazine. So it's hopeless.
Over the last five years I have learned so much about myself. I've made hundreds of amends, trained in a new path of ministry, learned to be curious and kind with the dark spots on my soul, made new friends, learned new ways of thinking and seeing myself and the world. And often am still quite a dork....
Last week I was making fun of myself for doing something dumb. Steve laughed with me and then said again what he had said three years ago. "You are one of the coolest people I know." Except this time I heard it. I heard it from a guy whose tastes and opinions I value so highly. This time I believed him. His simple phrase delighted me. And for a split second I saw myself through his eyes.
A girl who hammered nails in an orphanage wall in the jungles of Honduras, hiked through castle ruins in Scotland and swam in the dead sea in Israel.
A girl who is equally happy with Barclay's commentary on Luke, and US Weekly celebrity edition.
A girl with crazy amounts of courage and compassion.
A girl who completed every obstacle in the Tough Mudder but can't program the radio in her car.
A girl who cracks herself up with her own silly jokes, closes her eyes during scary movies and reads the ends of books first.
A girl who loves her family and friends ferociously. A girl who is learning and growing and trying....
In that split second I wondered "who says she isn't cool?" and "why I have I been so mean to her for the last 44 years?" And just like that a life time quest for coolness, and a negative personal truth evaporated. POOF. Gone. It just didn't seem to carry any importance or weight to me any more.
Shauna Niequest, in her book Bread and Wine writes "sometimes God helps us work out our crazy through struggle and loss, and sometimes he helps us work it out through truth telling and vulnerability - and sometimes he just uses comedy."
Today I turn 45. Almost 50. Half of 90. Ouch.... Maybe the comedy is that it took me to the age of reading glasses and earlier bed times to finally stop measuring and judging and wishing. And finally be content to just be me - whatever temperature that might be.
One of my favorite restaurants in Asheville is Tupelo Honey. It's southern comfort food with a fresh twist. We are talking pillowy biscuits with plenty of blackberry jam, goat cheese grits and fried green tomatoes, sweet potato pancakes, big as a plate with granola pieces and homemade maple syrup. And my personal favorite -a gluten free cheddar and havarti grilled cheese sandwich with a cup of thick tomato soup. Are you hungry yet?
Comfort food is defined as food which often provides a nostalgic or sentimental feeling to the person eating it. It reminds us of a time when we were nourished and nurtured. When work gets crazy, finals loom, Christmas shopping is hectic, or we get lonely, we crave comfort food that takes us back to a safe, happy time.
One of the discomforting things in my life and work is people coming and leaving. I might have a patient and family for one week or for two years. But every week someone I've invested in is passing on. My specific job is to help them make this transition peacefully. I'm so thankful for coworkers who share the experiences and the losses with me and understand this painful honor.
In Spartanburg I had Nathan and Vicki, my co-chaplain residents. Together we learned every square inch of a giant hospital. We watched our first autopsy together, starting horrified in the doorway, but by the end right up at the table peering in to parts of the human body we had never seen before. We become veteran trauma responders, commiserated on sleepless nights on call, learned to be calm in emergencies and to enter into the darkness with our patients. We spent hours in our shared office, spinning our chairs around to talk/cry/laugh/agonize. And that year we all became chaplains. At the end of 12 months Nathan moved to Alaska to work as a bereavement chaplain. Vicki moved to Arizona to pastor a church there. And I joined the Four Seasons Hospice team in Asheville. I miss them!
Hospice work was very different than my hospital experience. I was so grateful to work with two seasoned and amazing social workers, Beth and Amanda. They took me under their wings and I was always glad when we did joint visits. Together we learned every square mile of Buncombe county. We knocked on doors of mansions and hovels. We hiked up dirt roads or snow roads we couldn't drive up. We held hands with hurting people and blinked back tears. We listened and hugged and prayed and helped our people. For three years we were a team. Then this summer a pregnant Amanda left for a more baby-friendly schedule. And Beth left to be a full time hospice daughter for her Atlanta father who passed away this fall. I miss them!
There is a people equivalent to comfort food. Old friends and fellow travelers. Safe, familiar, nourishing, interesting, comfortable people. I need this in my life. I need to be reminded that while lots of people come and go, my comfort people that are still here.
Last week I got an email from Nathan. Really do miss you guys. I still have a picture of us residents from the Spartanburg days, on my desk. I look at it all the time and speak small prayers for you gals. I still can't say how much I learned and grew that year. So glad to know you both. Then he said he would be in Asheville for a few days for Christmas. Could we meet for breakfast? Could we?!!!
At the same time Beth and Amanda and I set a date for lunch after weeks of crazy scheduling issues. Monday we met for lunch at Tupelo Honey. I held Amanda's tiny baby boy and we caught up on family, work, healing, and plans for the holiday. Over toasty grilled cheese and chunky tomato soup, we made plans to meet again in January and not wait so long to make it happen.
Wednesday morning I was back at Tupelo Honey waving to Alaskan Nathan as he walked up the sidewalk. I had an omelet and goat cheese grits as I listened to his and Heather's adventures and shared my family stories. It felt so good to be caught up on his life and work. We took a selfie outside the restaurant and sent it to Vicki titled Incomplete Reunion.
To cap off my comfort people binge, on Sunday morning I pick up my parents from the airport. My ultimate comfort people. They are the human equivalent to mac and cheese, mashed potatoes and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies all put together. And though it is a little obsessive to go to the same restaurant three times in two weeks, guess where I am taking them to eat?
definition: Holusion - a trademark for an apparently meaningless pattern that holds a three-dimensional image inside if you know how to look for it.
Do you remember about 20 years ago, when these 3D pictures were the big thing? I do. Vividly. Because I could not see the secret picture. For a while I thought the whole thing was a joke - like cow tipping or snipe hunting. I waited to be let in on the secret laugh.
directions: with the art almost touching your nose, just stare as if you were trying to look right through the page. Slowly pull back a little bit. When the art is at comfortable view distance, the image should come into focus. If it doesn't don't worry. It may take several attempts before you see it.
But, I was promised, there is something there. So I kept reading the directions. And using the transparent sheet. And slowly pulling the picture back from my nose. Then one day I saw it! I went from picture to picture practicing until I could go immediately see the 3D image in each frame.
I thought about Holusion art this week. I spend lots of time in nursing home rooms talking to very elderly, wizened, gummy-smiled people in wheel chairs and railed beds. But the longer I spend with them, the more I realize that they weren't always frail and bent. On their walls are pictures of them as young soldiers, beautiful brides, strong fathers, resourceful mothers, beloved parents and adored friends. This week I talked to a career logger, a published writer, a man who hiked the entire Appalachian trail and a woman who raised eight children. I learned about selling Corvettes in the 1950's and how to bake to-die-for biscuits in a wood burning oven.
As I hear their stories all the parts of them become visible, filling in their wrinkles, straightening their backs. Beyond oxygen tubes and paper thin skin I am learning to see the vibrant, integral people they have been, the souls of great value they are. I am learning to recognize the twinkle in an eye or a clever retort that helps me quickly glimpse the 3D person. The whole, beautiful, illustrious picture.
note: Don't be in too much of a hurry. Some people are unable to see the art because the moment they start to see part of the image, they rivet their attention on the obvious pattern. Remember, stay relaxed and keep looking through the page until the whole picture appears.
from Holusion Art, NVision Grafix, Inc
It's Christmas time in the mountains. I know this because every radio station is playing Christmas carols. I know this because it gets dark so early and many houses on my drive home are decked out in festive lights. I know it's Christmas time because of the insane traffic around the mall and the long line of cars heading into the Biltmore House.
The Biltmore House is a wonderful place to get into the Christmas spirit. When I am independently wealthy I am going to go to the Biltmore House every December for a day or two. I will wander from room to room soaking up each decorated tree and downtown abby detail. Years ago, I was given a year long pass to the Estate. I decided to take my two little boys (still at a free age!) for a morning at Biltmore and began filling their minds with tales of the Christmas trees, gingerbread houses and the hot chocolate we would drink afterwards.
Unfortunately the boys were at a "seen one tree, you've seen them all" phase in their little boyness. By the third room they began a campaign to head to the super cool Starbucks we had passed right outside the Lodge Gate. We saw the house at break neck speed and soon were burning our tongues on rich, hot chocolate. Which is when the boys declared this to be a great morning out.
Part of my Biltmore nostalgia stems from the fact that those two little boys are growing up so fast! But also because I am halfway through a book about the history and people of this grand estate. I'm fascinated with the world traveling woman who fell in love with Asheville and the mountains and moved into Biltmore to make it a home.
"Edith Stuyvesant Dresser was a woman of strength and supreme self-confidence. She was tall - nearly six feet -with prominent features, brown hair , and dark hazel eyes. Edith was twenty-five, clearly independent and living in Paris with an older sister when she married George Vanderbilt, who was then thirty-five. Though Edith was raise in New York and Newport with no knowledge of the southern Appalachian, she came to share her husband's appreciation of the North Carolina mountains and the people who lived there." Lady on the Hill, page 40
And just when I feel like my Christmas is getting too hectic and I can't drag myself into another store, Edith inspires again.
"Edith was friendly and approachable. Every worker on the estate and members of their families saw her at least once a year at the traditional Christmas party when her husband distributed presents from under the Biltmore tree. Preparations began in October, with Edith circulating among the farm families to update the names and ages of children so that each would have a gift. Some years she personally selected more than fifteen hundred presents for employees, former employees, and their families; saw that they were wrapped; and stashed them safely in one of the tower rooms until Christmas Day." - Lady on the Hill, page 41
I love picturing the joy on those children's faces! I don't have Edith's budget but I can hang on to her thoughtfulness, personalization and giving spirit as I head into this holiday season.
And in that spirit, here is a beautiful December prayer -
Christ of the Christmas Morning
Hope is one of your best gifts to us
So teach us to give it to others
---An Adapted Celtic Prayer
