THE DIFFERENCE THIS YEAR

This Christmas I noticed something special and I'm hoping others had the same experience.  Some years there's a disconnect between getting ready for Christmas and the evening or day itself.  After all, expectations run high.  

Some years the choosing, ordering or buying of gifts, the tracking and worry about the teenager's high-tops arriving on time (they didn't), the cleaning and decorating, the grocery trips, then forays for more not to mention the cost, can overshadow what we're preparing for.  We want love and peace and a modicum of calm and a candlelit night and a Jammie day.  We want carols and prayers (answered please) and good health.  We want family without drama.  We want alone time but just the right amount.  Whew, we want a lot!  No wonder we can be disappointed.  

Well, somehow this year was different.  And it happened without changing anything but myself.  When I wrapped the gifts for under the tree, I reused colorful boxes or gift bags from other years and only added tissue and ribbon.  I enjoyed the photos sent by the UPS of my packages outside a recipient's door.  We left a gift for our postal carrier Samantha, who is reliable as a clock.  I was so grateful to be preparing meals for a few friends and family.  I tried new recipes.  Two grandsons came the day after Christmas.  We're burning fires from the downed limbs in our woods and giving the kitchen a sweep when it needs it.  

But more than that.  I noticed that we gave each other small gifts on Christmas Eve:  teas and fancy tea towels, books and a new wallet, sweaters and cotton shirts or pajamas, and that each was unwrapped slowly and admired.  I noticed how appreciation shone from the faces of the small family gathered that night.   

I saw the comraderie of the brothers baking mint cookies for dessert after opening more gifts: a handknit beanie (made by me) for one and colorful socks, a sweater for each, and for their PaPa a picture album they filled with favorite photos.  No extravagance but time.

Every year the season passes too quickly, doesn't it?  That in itself is a reminder that it has to be the journey, not just the day.  But this is true of all of life, isn't it?  It's all about the journey.  About paying attention and noticing.  About savoring moments that may not seem memorable until they are gone.   Staying up late to put together a child's chair and table set is one of those moments for me.  Fixing a holiday meal with too many people underfoot, another.  I bet you have your own such recollections.  

So, I didn't feel the disconnect this Christmas.  Maybe you didn't either.  Maybe we all accepted the limitations swirling around this time of year.  Maybe our expectations were about the birth of the Christ child and the warmth of friends, family and memories and we didn't look for perfection anywhere.  And so being renourished, maybe we are now ready to go forward and help others in all the ways we can.  

Thank you, Lord.  AMEN

 

YOUR OWN CHRISTMAS CHAOS

Yesterday the winter solstice began at 4:48 Eastern Time.  We had our longest night of the year.  It was a clear night, and the stars were out.  All I had to do was turn off the outside lights to see them. After just a few hours, I tucked in with my book and warm quilt.  It felt so cozy and comforting. My husband stayed up to watch that wonderful old movie Christmas in Connecticut.  

The last few years I have been so looking forward to this time of early darkness. As a younger person I didn't mark the winter solstice. I might look out my office window or leave a deposition and darkness had fallen. But I didn't know what day it was.  I was simply looking forward to the Christmas break of a few days. On Christmas Eve, the night was silent only for the length of the hymn. I was not in tune with nature.  Surely excusable for a busy person, I like to believe.     

But now I think that I missed too many solstices, summer and winter; and have promised myself that the years of ignoring these special days are over.  One gift of retirement is noticing.  Simply that:  noticing the hours, the days, the weeks, the seasons.  I expect many of you do that already; you haven't waited to luxuriate in the fulness of life. You enjoy the long summer days and the long winter nights.  Both bring us blessings.  

Now the blessing is being rather than doing; lighting fires and candles and outdoor lights and, if you are Christian, waiting for the birth of the Christ child, alone or with family and presents and carols.  What a wonderful time of year this is.  Even if some family is absent, or some alienated, let us give thanks for all that we have.  Warmth and starry nights and hot soup and gifts in the mail or under the tree and whatever else makes up your own Christmas chaos.  

In peace, Nina Naomi

TO SING, TO TWIRL, TO BREATHE, TO LIGHT UP THE SKY

my meadow on a snowy day

I want to write a poem today

About cold days and warm blankets,

About the places I've been,

England, Iceland, Africa . . . 

Scotland, Italy, Germany . . .

Norway, France and home.

And those where I still hope to go,

Portugal, Peru, Denmark, Heaven.

I want my poem to sing, to twirl, to breathe, to light up the sky.

I want it to share peace with the firmament,

Trust with my soul.

My poem could help me forget or help me remember.

It could soothe my body my heart, my mind.

It could do all those things that make us happy and catch our breath.

My poem could be the only magic I ever make and that would be enough.  

 

THE NIGHT GROWS DARK

What can I say as the night grows dark,

And the days grow weak and dim?

What can I say when my time is short,

And my words are small and slim?

What can I say when my thoughts compound,

And my heart beats fast,

And my memories fall away? 

Some just right but some too far,  

And some won't let me go. 

I can say that, Christ, how I love each hour, 

How I live each day,

And I breath each flower,

And I strive to find the way.

I can ask God please, please to make me sure

When my heart beats slow,

And my memories fall away.  

nina naomi

OPENING TO LIFE

                                                                 

         Enough (excerpt)

David Whyte (b.1955)

These few words are enough.

If not these words, this breath.

If not this breath, this sitting here.

This opening to the life

We have refused again and again

Until now.

OUR PLACE IN ETERNITY

This winter evening, I am strangely alone by the sea.  One thing I notice is that when the ocean is loud, the rhythmicality of the sound is akin to silence.  When you can hear nothing but waves in an unchanging pattern, it can seem like being in the midst of quietness.  This is especially true in that unique darkness that lives at the sea.  I stayed outdoors in my down jacket as long as I could.  Then the chill took over.  Do you feel that we never run out of good places to be?  

Yet even as I write, I am brought up short by the thought of the Ukrainians and others cold or hungry or frightened while I am enjoying the early night, warm in my coat and aware that supper is mine for the making. We know about the "andness" of life.  While some of us are happy, others of us are sad.  We have each been on both sides of that "and" I suspect, although most are not living in the daily presence of war.  

Still, Hanukkah and Christmas are on their way.  They come for those of us in the momentary glow of a peaceful starry night and they come for all who suffer. Perhaps for them most of all.  And of course, what we hope is that even in extremis we can take a moment to look at the stars at night or hear birdsong at daybreak or find a flower in a crack or let the waves give us a place in eternity, and in those ways find hope or consolation.  

Tonight I am thankful and do not want to let that pass.  Good wishes to all.  Nina Naomi    

HEALTHY ATTITUDES: CHRISTMAS GIVING

Duke University Divinity School

This morning I came across the website of an artist-in-residence at Duke University Divinity School.  His name is Malcom Guite, an Anglican priest and academic with degrees from Cambridge University. I ran across his name by accident.  He is local this semester and a class he is teaching sounds interesting to this English major. But what caught my attention is his personal fund-raising page, highlighted in bold on an orange background, which says:  ⛾ BUY ME A COFFEE 

A Brit, he wants people to send him £5 a pop, or multiples of £5, in the pretext of buying him a cup of coffee.  No reason is given.  He is not poor.  

This poet/priest/songwriter has a paid position at Cambridge University in England and a paid position at Duke University here in Durham.  He writes and sells books. He is prolific. He is available for speaking and other gigs, as he says. He is educated, talented and employed.  (As a seasonal aside, he looks like Santa Clause.)

So why does he have his hand out like a person in need?  Why is he panhandling online for money?  Not money for a cause, mind you, but for himself. Readers send him two coffees, six coffees and more.  No doubt many of the contributors have less income than he. 

I have respect for those who stand in the cold on street corners.  It is not an enviable way to survive.  Some may be deserving, some not, but my instinct is to give all the benefit of the doubt.  Some are veterans.  Some have mental health problems.  There but for the grace of God go many of us.  We need social safety nets.  We need to take care of each other.   

I think I know why this solicitation bothers me. It's because there are so many in need, so many good causes and we are all stretched thin in giving.  Food banks, Toys for Tots, gift bags for our deployed, you name it.  This is the month when our generosity peaks. 

And I run across this busy academic shamelessly asking for pocket money.  I may read his poetry this season, but I won't be clicking him a fancy coffee or two.  

Now, note to self:  let this go.  Move on. There's so much more important.  (And maybe after a week or so delete this post.)     

THE IMPERFECT CHRISTMAS

Duke Chapel, 2nd Sunday in Advent

Christmas makes me happy.  

I love to decorate the house.  We put up a live tree and bring down boxes of ornaments.  I hang the Santa Clause two young cousins gave our equally young son.  Our granddaughter puts the pink velvet reindeer from Selfridges in London in a prominent place. My husband hangs a globe with a faded picture of his father and our two babies.  We have six silver drums from the year our son was high school drum major.  The toy ornaments were sent by my mom our first year away; little mice in fancy clothes, a mole in a top hat.  Our daughter's china doll gets a special place. My collection of tea kettles weighs down the branches.  I gather greenery from the yard and fill every container with holly berries and pine.  The candles I've been collecting at discount all year are finally lit.  

Shopping is a breeze with online sources and detailed lists.  I keep carols playing and a fire going.  Nothing has to be mailed and we don't have to travel.  

I love the progress of Advent, one more candle each week, mid-week services, O Come O Come Emmanuel; the windows and music and poinsettias at Duke Chapel; the church family at our Lutheran place of worship.

I begin using my Spode Christmas china as early as I can and invite a few friends for casual get-togethers.  Usually, we have beloved family on Christmas Eve before or after the service and some more a day or so later. The grandchildren are fine and healthy and loving. 

Nothing is more welcome than Silent Night by candlelight.  God always finds me at Christmas time and for that I am grateful.  

Christmas makes me sad. 

There are no little ones around the house.  No toys to buy, no Santa Claus.  No one spends the night for an early Christmas morning.  Many ornaments bring bittersweet memories.  My mom and dad are gone, our only son too.  Someone I love deeply has problems I cannot touch.  

I do not cook for extended family anymore and after a divorce some of them are elsewhere.  My wonderful grandsons navigate stepparents and new obligations.  

So, what do we have?  Can you say something similar?  Are there two sides to your Christmas?  Perhaps the two sides have to do with family, or faith, or life and death, or health, or insecurity, or isolation, or ruminations, or all the myriads of life and aging.  

Still, the angels will sing.  They are practicing now.  All they need is an open heart to receive them and I am willing to give that.  So, my two sides aren't quite even. Whether Christmas makes me happy or sad, I love it.  I need it.  I need the birth of Christ so that Easter and the Resurrection can come too.  If someday I am alone somewhere, as many are on Christmas day, I will still be glad for the birth of the Christ child who lets me know that there is resurrection of the dead and life everlasting.  I do so much pray that we all find and keep our Christmas joy. In Christ, Nina Naomi

THE IMMORTALITY OF BLESSINGS

Books make us think.  If you've read My Grandfather's Blessings by Rachel Naomi Remen, M.D., or her earlier book Kitchen Table Wisdom, you know that this is a wonderful Christmas, Hanukkah, holiday or anytime book.  My copy is full of notes.  It is almost like a diary.  

The book is dedicated to those who have been given more than they have received.  This is confusing until you think how often we have left a blessing unclaimed and unappreciated.  I know that I have.  We catch ourselves ignoring a beautiful day; or not saying "Thank you" to someone whose heart we can rely on; or not finding time for a friend.  Or even just not looking up when someone enters the room.  Or worst of all, taking our very lives for granted.   It's like we don't have time to be blessed.  

Dr. Remen talks about celebrating life rather than trying to fix it, about healing rather than curing.  For Christians, that's why we pray for the "peace that passes all understanding."  When you get right down to it, that's the prayer that makes the most sense.  It's the only gift transcendent.  

One early chapter is about loss.  The author says that every great loss demands that we choose life again.  Have you not found this to be true?  The greater the loss the more we might wish to wither.  To escape the pain of the loss.  I remember one time wishing that I couldn't function, the toll that it took was so hard.  But, I learned, God made me functional; I had no choice but to choose life again.  And what a blessing that choice is every time.  

Remen says, "Grieving is not about forgetting.  Grieving allows us to heal, to remember with love rather than pain."  I can see from my marginalia that I wrote, "This book is a blessing."  She had removed her mask in writing and I in reading.  

In another chapter, she writes about someone "who brought beauty to everything she touched."  Don't you just picture a person full of love and creativity?  And a cancer patient who said, "I always knew what mattered.  I just never felt entitled to live by it before."  This reminds me of the Catholic writer Walker Percy, one of whose characters ruminates about how illness clarifies.  This is true, too, isn't it?  How when we are pushed to extremes, with narrow paths or none, the refinement of life becomes almost blinding.      

This book reminds us of the everydayness of our own blessings.  She says that most of us lead far more meaningful lives than we know.  I can see that in others, that they don't comprehend their own value, or goodness, or worth.  Then mayn't it also be true for ourselves? 

She also says, "Blessing life offers us a certain immortality.  Our love outlives us and strengthens others. Even after we ourselves are gone."  Yes, we know not just from the Bible that "Love is stronger than Death" (Song of Solomon 8:6), but from our own experiences of longing and loving far beyond the grave; as well as from our being sheltered and buoyed by those whose feet no longer touch earth. 

Holidays have always been a time of both joy and sadness.  We may miss those who made our childhoods full.  Our gift-giving may put us in debt.  The traveling, buying, cooking and cleaning may be exhausting.  Our family may not be close.  For some social isolation is a problem.  Some may drink too much. There are help lines specifically for holiday depression.  

But this book--and much else in this Advent world of ours--is a reminder to find and focus on the good and to be better ourselves.  Hoping we all recognize our blessings this holiday.    

                              In peace, Nina Naomi