Roll Call

John.         Here.
Andrew.     Here.
Marcy.       Here.
Brenda.     Here.
Linda.       Present.
Bruce.       Here.

This was a scene repeated so many times in my childhood in various school years that the names run together ... but the answer was always the same.  Either "here" or "present".  

There's a hint in that little scene.  A reminder that in order to learn in life, we must be in the moment - we must be here.  

Too many times I've gone round and round in the past.  There's been no escape; it's like I was trapped there.  I do believe that the past is useful to visit when it's done with the purpose of healing - or of reminding ourselves of the blessings we have known so as to encourage ourselves to keep believing, keep hoping.  But living there, wallowing in our pasts, leaves us sad, bitter, estranged from or entangled within our roots.  Either way, we cannot be present in the now.  Our energy is all tied up in what has already happened, what might have happened if we (or others) had only done things differently.  Emotionally and physically, we tire easily. So it was with me.  I held deep resentments against those who had injured me, nursed each new wound and compounded it upon the old.  I berated myself for not living up to my own expectations.  It sapped my strength.  

There've also been times when I feared the future: feared it so much that I would sleep poorly (if at all), fret and stew about things that might happen (most of which never did), and try to influence or manipulate the circumstances or the people involved in my own future so much that I would end up creating the very thing I feared.  It robbed me of many moments I could have enjoyed.  It stole away the present... so that I wasn't here for it.  I was in tomorrow.  Next week. Next month. 

In the last 3 years I have been learning to exist in the here.  In the present.  In the now. The struggle is never-ending: it is difficult to accept what has been, what is.  To not try to change what will be.  When I do live in the now, though, the weight of the backpack of yesterday and the chains of tomorrow drops from me like Pilgrim's pack when he gets to the cross.  I am freed to spend my energy in things that matter, right now.  Enjoying the moment, now.  Helping the person who is in front of me, now.  Hearing the still, small whisper of the divine, now.  Breathing the rarefied air in the presence of God, now.  Worshiping Him, now.  Not ten years ago.  Not next Sunday.  NOW.

If I carry anything with me into the new year, I wish for it to be this.  That when I am called upon, that whenever and wherever God will speak to me and give me that inner nudge - I will be "present."

Truth Hurts - Lies Hurt More

This evening I was talking to someone who had just found out second-hand about something he should have been told two months ago when it happened.  Yet people kept that information from him, fearing he would be upset. "We were scared of just such a reaction," the person told him when he angrily confronted one of the conspirators.  

Truth, even if it is hard to accept and might not be well received, is still better than withholding it only to have the person find out, and then feel that he or she wasn't considered worthy of the truth to start with. That's the thing about lying.  It speaks of a deep and abiding mistrust of the person being lied to.

People lie - about a great many things - and call it all manner of things.  I know.  I've done it.  I can't promise I will never do it again.  And the justifications abound....

Sparing the person's feelings.
Bending the truth.
Protecting.  (Protecting whom??)
The greater good.
The lesser of two evils.
Withholding information. 
White lies.
Fibbing.
Joking. 

Even more damaging are the lies we tell ourselves about either our own behavior or someone else's.  

He didn't mean it.
She's not really like that. 
I'm not controlling.  I'm concerned. 
I'm not manipulating.  I'm just pointing out the facts. 
I'm not playing the victim.  I AM one.  

When we start telling the truth, to ourselves first and then to others, it is no guarantee that we'll never be hurt.  Truth does hurt sometimes.  But it is more damaging to lie - or to be lied to - than to live in an atmosphere of honesty. 

Withholding the truth from someone just because we are uncomfortable with confrontation does a disservice to both parties.  It leaves us with a fear of being found out - and trust me, it WILL be found out - and it leaves the other person with a deep and abiding sense of betrayal.  Betrayal is inviting the spectre of death into a relationship.  It takes a very long time to recover from it.  Some never recover.  Never.  

Telling someone a hard truth should never bring us pleasure.  I say again, if we take secret delight in telling someone some truth that will make them sad, or hurt, or uncomfortable, or angry, then we are not operating in love, and we will be held accountable.  Yet on the other hand, the fear of negative repercussions from someone that loves us or whom we love is not reason enough to lie to that person.

Relationships are messy.  Life - and truth - is sometimes hard.  
We owe it to each other to be lovingly and graciously honest.

Psyched up - Let Down

It happens every December.  People get psyched up for Christmas, young and old, with a flurry of activity: social, culinary, and shopping-related, and it all comes to a head on the 25th of December.  After that, it's like the air being let out of a balloon.  Enthusiasm deflates.  And people face reality.  Some face truckloads of debt that it will take all year to repay.  Others feel like they need to take a steamshovel and a hose to their house - or their lives - and clear out all the stuff and/or guilt that has been accumulated over the past few weeks/days.  Still others have been hoping for some sort of emotional miracle or breakthrough with a significant other ... that never happened.  And then there are those who have thoroughly enjoyed the season only to have family and friends return to their own routines and leave them with all those decorations to put away - and loneliness and self-pity creep in and wrap their cold fingers around their hearts again.  

C. S. Lewis noted in his book, "The Screwtape Letters" that humans are cyclical beings - that is, we all experience a normal ebb and flow of emotion, and this is normal.  Some believe that a person should be "up" all the time and feel guilty or somehow defective when they inevitably feel "down" - this is something that the enemy of our souls can capitalize upon to make us doubt ourselves, to doubt whether we are loved and/or cared for by God.  The truth is, however, that people do have ups and downs, that there is a natural rhythm to our emotional lives.  Accepting that, feeling what we feel honestly, and then moving on, is a healthy response to this natural phenomenon.  

It's when we deny what we feel and lie to ourselves (and others) about it, pretend to be fine and act like everything is just peachy - that we are in dysfunction, that we put ourselves under undue stress, and that our bodies (if kept too long in that state of dishonesty) will react by making us sick, or in pain.  

Of course we can stave off the dark specter of being let down by taking care of ourselves, looking after our inner life first instead of always taking what's left over. If we look after ourselves regularly, the "downs" don't tend to go as low or last as long.  They still do happen, though.  Denying that, living the lie of saying that it doesn't exist, only serves to deepen those "down" times and shorten the "up" times. We find ourselves wondering just how long the happiness will last, which robs us of the joy of it - and wondering how long the sadness will last, making it last longer.  Instead of living in the moment, we worry about the future. Or we regret the poor choices of the past.

How much better it is to just be who we are and feel what we feel in honest relationship with God, ourselves, and others.  How much more healthy it is to accept ourselves the way we are without berating ourselves and falling prey to the "shoulds" which some folks try and make stick to our spirits, either by criticism and condemnation or praise and applause.  I have spoken about this externally-based self-esteem before - see my post called "You Are Special" - it really pinpoints the dangers of getting our sense of worth from other people's opinions, and highlights the necessity of spending time nurturing our own spirits. At such times, we can get "let down" far more quickly because our spirits are underfed, running on empty, depleted, whatever you want to call it.

As the year ends ... perhaps it's time to consider spending more of our time doing the important things, before the urgent things steal those moments from us and leave us with more seasons where we are drained of energy. It doesn't have to be super complicated. It can be as simple as carving out time in the run of a day to read an inspirational reading - or go for a drive to see our favorite kind of scenery - or listen to a song - or talk to a good friend - or go for a walk - or put in a good movie and watch it.  Or we can even do something creative that we enjoy doing, like baking ... or painting ... whatever it is.  

Let's just do it.

Centering

I've been reading a book I got for Christmas - "Hungry for God" by Margaret Feinberg. I started reading in fear and trembling because so many books on getting to know God are so incredibly NOT about getting to know Him but getting to know more ABOUT Him.  Knowledge I have.  What I lack is experience.  

Anyway, this book didn't turn out to be as I feared.  It talks about the mundane things of our lives and how God uses them to reveal Himself to us through them.  If we listen.  

One analogy she uses in her book - one which is not original to her of course - is the one about the clay and the potter.  But she happens to mention the part that is so easily overlooked about creating a piece of pottery.  It's the first part - the part a potter calls 'centering'.  

Source (via Google Images):
http://pottery.about.com/od/centeringonthewheel/
ss/centering_2.htm

The potter doesn't just plunk down the clay and start to make a pot or a vase right away.  The first part after smacking it down on the wheel, is holding the clay in a lump as the wheel turns beneath it, squeezing it toward the middle of the wheel, making sure it is perfectly in the inner circle of the wheel, even before the clay has an inside part. The potter keeps adding water, squeezes some more, and shifts the clay on the wheel until it seems to be standing still even though the wheel is still spinning.  This is to make the clay pliable and to prevent disaster later on from the creation being off-center.  

And yet the pot cannot hold anything yet because it doesn't have an opening.  Any water poured onto it would just slide off.  The potter wants to make sure that the clay is where it needs to be, first and foremost. He tests it by squishing it down with the heel of his hand. Then squeezing it toward the middle so that it's tall. Then down again. Then up.  The clay - if it could think - might wonder what in the world was becoming of it.  Yet all this time it is being shaped, and its goodness is being slimed all over the potter's fingers, sinking into his pores, under his nails.  The potter is inexorably connected to and involved in his creation. 

Only then, only after the clay is perfectly centered and pliable, is it ready to be "opened" - the potter squishes the lump again, the clay's outside becomes the general shape that was intended, and then the thumb starts pressing down in the very center of the lump - "opening" the clay and creating an inside that will make the piece usable. 

There are quite a few steps involved in pottery, but the one that stood out for me is the centering.  Again I stress that as the clay in this analogy, we cannot be 'opened' until we are 'centered.'  And it's all God's work including adding water (which symbolizes His divine presence being infused into us); He is the one who does it, we are only available to Him.  He works a work on the wheel of our lives (which HE set in motion) and it is HIS choice how long that takes or what shape will eventually be produced.  

It's messy. It's uncomfortable sometimes. There's a lot of pressure.  It takes a long time.  And it's necessary.  

Totally.

Accepting What Is

Earlier today I found myself singing an old Irish tune I heard for the first time on Star Trek: the Next Generation.  Sometimes my insides will tell me what's going on in my subconscious, and this time was one of them.  The story line behind the singing of the song in the show was that there was a fellow who was convinced that the enemy was building a secret base - but there was no proof.  He became a renegade and started to attack the supply ships going to this area of space - the no-man's land so to speak - to single-handedly expose and destroy the covert operations of the enemy.  A former crew member was able to finally get to him to talk some sense into him and get him to turn himself in.  Here's the scene to which I am referring - it's about a minute and a half long.  

I've learned to listen to those signals from my subconscious mind . . . especially if they take the form of music, since music is important to me.  

The message I finally got from this scene (which for the last few days has been playing in my mind) is that I've been fighting a battle lately in my insides, a battle that comes from trying to hang onto things, habits, relationships, and attitudes that used to work for me but which no longer do, which tend to keep me bound, or hold me back in some way. Sometimes it's because I've held on to some attitude that is selfish, self-seeking, or otherwise controlling or care-taking (and not in a good way).  If that is the case, God usually shows me, and I have to acknowledge it and take steps to correct it.  

But in the vast majority of cases, it's because I've moved on - and it's time for me to let go.  Part of me, the part that remembers the good times and the times when this or that behavior, relationship, or belief worked for me, is saddened by its passing.  Yet in nearly all of those instances, I've grown in areas that make that thing or person no longer "fit" into who I'm becoming.  It doesn't mean there's anything wrong with whatever it is, or that it wasn't needed at the time.  It just means I'm no longer in that place.

It's allowed for me to grieve that loss.  My emotions are perfectly normal for someone who has lost something that has carried any importance.  Since feelings are intended to be transitory states, I know that it's okay to feel those feelings, to work through them and understand why they are there, and then let them go. This is healthy and right.  Letting go means that I accept what is.  I say goodbye inside.  And then I walk away.

And as hard as it is to let go, it would be harder still to hold on and try to resuscitate something that for me, no longer has any life in it. 

Sometimes I just have to sing the song of the weary soldier - and then say to the Spirit, "I'm not going to win this one, am I Chief?"  and accept what is .... and then give myself up.

Current Events

I was reading a fellow-blogger's article yesterday at One Crafty Mother. (Yes, that's a link.)

She describes a concept she calls "downstream."  It was just what I needed.  

Lots of things are changing in my life lately - there is much about which I know little, and over which I have absolutely no control.  As a recovering control freak and rescuer, I have a difficult time with not being in control even though I know it's good for me.  

She talks about letting go as lifting your feet off the bottom of a river and letting the current carry you.  The metaphor of swimming is more than a little uncomfortable for me.  But that's because I'm a non-swimmer and don't like the water.  My feet must always be able to touch bottom.  Always. Otherwise I panic.  

Photo via Google Images at:
http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-photo/vandall/zardoz-
2003/1087766820/dscf0030.jpg/tpod.html

That said, the analogy is still quite powerful - in life, in my journey of healing, I'm learning how to let go of the need to supervise, control, fix, or otherwise have an influence over the situations or people involved in a particular desired outcome.  I remember sitting in someone's office recently, and seeing a little card attached to the person's computer monitor - identical to the one I have in various places at home - which gives a slightly different version of the Serenity Prayer.  The original goes, "God grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can, and Wisdom to know the difference."  This one says, "God, grant me the Serenity to accept the people I cannot change, Courage to change the person I can, and Wisdom to know it's me."  

It's hard to let go of the compulsion to know what's happening every single minute.  There's a certain comfort that comes from that kind of control.  But letting go and allowing events to unfold, without having (or wanting to have) any control or influence over what happens or any fretting over whether it does or doesn't - that is a skill that I had to learn, and I have succeeded a few times.  Which is more than before (which was zero.)  My fellow-blogger calls this picking up your feet in the current and allowing it to take you "downstream" - wherever it will naturally take you.  

Going against the current is occasionally necessary to stand up for what's right when the people or events are going toward an unhealthy place. 

But doing it all the time is exhausting: I speak from experience! And most of the time, it is more healthy for me to "go with the flow" - to go where God is leading and not to fret about where it might take me.  The events that happen to me in such a current often lead to the most amazing opportunities to help someone or experience something awesome in my relationship with God.  Or to discover something I needed to know about myself.  These 'current events' - more often than not - lead me to myriad 'God-moments' that I would never have experienced otherwise: where God is in complete control and brings things and people into my path that I never would have dreamed.  

The unpredictability of it all both unnerves and exhilarates me.  Sometimes I gasp for breath and clutch out wildly for some point of reference.  Other times, I can actually see some of what He is doing and I'm in awe.  

One thing I will say.  It is never boring.

Song in the Night

"All Your breakers and Your waves have rolled over me." - Ps. 42:7

That's what fear - that's what panic - that's what depression - looks like.  It's overwhelming, suffocating, destructive.  

King David struggled with these feelings on a regular basis.  He spent a lot of his youth running from the wrath of a royal madman obsessed with not losing his kingdom - to the point of living in caves even.  Even after he came to power, there were times when his life was horrible.  One of his sons raped his daughter, another killed the son who did it, and a third son tried to lead a coup take his kingdom away from him by force.  Talk about stress!  

Photo (via Google Images) :
http://allworldbest.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-waves.html

Read any of the psalms written by him (some weren't) and they will usually talk about the tumult he experienced inside.  Most were prayers.  Of those, most started out with some version of "God? Where ARE You??"  Then a whole litany of complaints - David didn't hold anything back. No "speaking in faith" for him! at least, not the way that folks today think of it. He was honest.  Brutally honest! Near the end, though, he would usually speak to his soul and tell it to remember God's goodness, to remember all the wonderful things He'd done for His people, to take heart from this, to remember to be grateful and to praise Him.  Over and over again we can see him struggling to believe in what were sometimes horrific circumstances - betrayal, loneliness, despondency, and waiting for God to do something when it seemed like the heavens were made of bronze. 

I quoted Psalm 42:7 at the beginning of this post.  Verse 8 says this:  "The Lord will command His lovingkindness in the daytime - and in the night His song will be with me, a prayer to the God of my life." The "song in the night" has come to me so many times as I have wrestled with God in the wee hours of the morning, wondering why this or that situation had to happen, whether things will ever be better, if I'll ever see the light of day in my heart again.  Everyone has times like that.  The "song" might have minor chords in it - at first - it's okay. The important thing, I believe, is to lift up whatever thoughts I have to God.  No matter what they are.  The important thing is that I talk to Him.  Even if I doubt.

David goes on to say that he would continue to be honest with God, to ask Him why He has forsaken him - and then after this outburst of emotion, he begins to ask himself why he is so disquieted.  He encourages himself to hope, to trust, to rest in God.  

The rest can't come for me unless and until I am honest with Him.  When my heart is heavy with grief or fear or depression, the singing isn't possible until the fists go into the pillow, until the shoulders heave with sobs, and the knowledge comes - usually afterward - that even at those times, He is holding me and letting me be who I am, feel what I feel, and that loves me in spite of it all.  

That kind of song is worth more than all the ones borne of denial and duty.  It is the song of Love.  

Milestones

Every December we get a new calendar for the upcoming year.  And before it goes up on the wall, there is one thing I always do.  

I take it out of its package, get some fine-point indelible markers in at least two different colours, and then take down the existing calendar.  Placing them side by side, I transfer all the special dates (birthdays, anniversaries, and other important dates that happen every year in our family, such as new celebrations that I've written down as they happen) by hand from the old calendar to the new one.  I also take all the dental appointment stickers we had been saving for the last four to six months and place them on the appropriate dates in the new year.  

Once the transfer is made, I open the new calendar to January.  Then I put it up on the wall, and cover it with the old calendar opened to December.  When January 1 comes, I remove the old year's calendar and save it with the others in a special spot.  I have a good decade or more of memories in those calendars, because as events happen in our lives they get written on the calendar: deaths of family members or close friends, special dates that commemorate milestones of achievement - whatever the case may be.  

It's good to remember important dates, milestones, places where (as Abraham did to commemorate special memories) we build altars as a reminder that this is where God met us or when we survived this or that thing - or accomplished something.  Or to remember how long it's been since whatever it was happened.  It helps to have those visible reminders so that we can recall that things do have a way of working out - no matter how hard they seem at the time.  Or that good things do happen and that it's not all bad.  And finally, milestones help us know that we're on the right road, that we haven't strayed and that the journey is still in progress.  We need that too.  We need signs along the way to show us we're doing okay.  If we get that assurance, we can leave something permanent - pass on memories somehow - to show those we love that this is a safe path.

Some of the milestones we can celebrate don't have to be big things to us - but they can be huge to others.  The simple fact of backing up loving actions by saying loving words (and vice versa) can make a tremendous difference to other people, especially those closest to us.

Someday it won't be about milestones anymore - but about the gateway to another existence.  Then, we'll be even more glad for the road signs we've left along the way.

Enough

How much is enough?

Good question.  I was chatting with someone in a store tonight and we were mentioning how it's really difficult to fit our petite frames when there's a belly involved.  We commiserated about that, and were quick to be grateful for certain lines of clothing that cater to our specific body type needs.  It made me think about wanting to lose weight - a topic that occasionally rears its ugly head.  

One of the first things a person learns when dieting living a new lifestyle is how much is enough.  So accustomed to ignoring the body's signals that it's full - the person keeps on eating and over-fills the stomach.  I can't count the number of times I've gone to bed in agony because I didn't know when to say when - and ended up overeating to the point of pain.  Then promising myself I'll never do it again.  But I do.  I forget the pain and focus on the short-term pleasure of making the other kind of hurting go away: the emotional kind.  It's true that people like me (there are so many of us out there!) really are "FEEDING their feelings."  This is to avoid FEELING them.  

People can be like that about anything.  Some are like that about housekeeping.  Others about fitness.  Still others about social activity - never able to get enough interaction. Some people can't seem to stop trying to rescue other people. I have to constantly guard against that one and if I can't with this or that individual, if I am constantly compelled to try to fix someone ... I need to walk away. 

People can be irresistibly drawn to shopping - to television - to sports - to motor vehicles of any description - to ... anything you can name.  These things provide an escape - a pleasurable escape - to the person that is trapped inside of them.  But even though they're pleasurable prisons, they are still prisons.  Any doubt about that ....?  just try to get out of one.  See how difficult it is.  

In relationship with God, escape from the endless trap of pleasurable diversions ... is possible.  With His help on a moment-by-moment basis, it is possible to get out of those prisons, those chains, those wrappings.  And the route isn't by attacking the wrappings - it's by tackling what's inside.  

Remember what I said about feeling our feelings instead of feeding them?  That's the ticket.  Emotional healing is the way to heal - focusing on relationships with God, the self, and THEN with others will allow all those other escape mechanisms to just drop off like unwanted baggage.  

And then someday, we'll be able to be in a situation and just know that this is "it" - that this is as far as we will go - and have the grace and courage to say, "ENOUGH!"

Real healing happens from the inside out.  If it doesn't, it will only be temporary.  And only God can heal the heart.

Bah humbug - really?

What's the first thing you think of when I say the name, "Scrooge"? 

I'll bet it isn't the 'after' picture.  It's probably the 'before' picture. Which is weird because it's the story of how someone changed from the before to the after. You'd think the after picture would be the one that stuck.  Hm. I think that the "after" picture was the one Dickens originally wanted to leave with people.

My all-time favorite film rendition of his famous short story, "A Christmas Carol"  is the one which stars Patrick Stewart, produced in 1999. Mr. Stewart did a far better job of projecting the inner anguish of the man - and the inevitable gratitude and joy - than anyone I've ever seen portray the character.  

Image found through Google at :
http://southernchristmascarol.blogspot.com/2009/01/
fred-nephew-good-ol-boy.html

Although I love the "after" picture that Dickens paints of his famous character, I still hesitate to call anyone "Scrooge."  It conjures up - for most people - a mean-spiritedness that overshadows and poisons interactions with others in a way that frustrates even the best efforts to include the person.  Yet the story of Scrooge delves into the reasons for his sour disposition.  Life had not been kind to him so he was not kind in return.

I must admit that a lot of the time I tend to avoid all the interactions and festivities that go on at this time of year, and I'm sure that some people think that I'm a "Scrooge".  In some ways I guess I am.  I'm not sure if it has to do with my own introverted nature (probably a lot of it right there) or just that I've seen so much that goes on in the name of "Christmas spirit" which - to me - just isn't.  

Loneliness dogs my steps at this time of year, something like a hungry wolf who isn't just satisfied with the rodents he finds along the trail but is after bigger game: me.  Sometimes I wonder why I even go to the trouble of decorating and going to social functions.  If I go, I feel out of place, excluded.  I probably am not, but that's my perception. Even in a crowd, I can relate a lot to the child Scrooge, being left behind when his school mates were off to spend Christmas break with their families - feeling like he didn't have anywhere he felt accepted.  Many times I've felt like that.  Sometimes I've even wanted to check out.  Especially when I have been reminded of just how alone I am, how people just tolerate me and don't "get" me at all.  

It is a short step from that perception of non-acceptance, that feeling of utter misery, to putting a hard crust over my heart and not letting anyone in ... so as to avoid being more hurt.  Probably I have already done that in some ways. 

Some days are better than others.  I'm up, I'm optimistic, I'm ready to face the world.  Life is good.

Some days, however, it takes all I have just to get out of bed and face the great gaping black hole of not fitting in anywhere.  I feel that I don't fit in at work - there I'm "too religious." Or just "too weird."  I don't fit in at church because there, I'm not "religious enough." Or just "too weird."  On such days, I cling by my fingernails to the slogan, 'one day at a time' because if I think about the abyss of endless days looming in front of me, I could easily fall into it and lose myself in despair.  

At such times, the festivities and the usual chit-chat only serve to highlight for me how "apart" I feel.  And I can fully understand why the highest rates of suicides are at Christmas-time. The crowded streets, the even more crowded stores, and all the talk about family get-togethers and parties and so forth, all serve to heighten my misery.  There's nothing wrong with parties, family get-togethers, and all the festivities this season has to offer.  It's just that when a person doesn't feel accepted or appreciated, maybe not even loved, the last thing he or she wants to attend is another social function that highlights how excluded he or she feels.  It doesn't mean that the person is anti-social or that he or she hates Christmas.  I happen to like Christmas - just not all the frenetic activity surrounding it (or any other family-oriented holiday going), the pushing people around in stores (jostling elbows and people saying "excuse me" all the time - which, after the 100th time I've heard it, sounds more like "move your fat rear" than "I need to get past you.")  That, combined with the social expectations, the family obligations, and so forth, tend to make me want to do my Christmas shopping online and vastly limit my social and family obligations.  Most folks call that a clear-cut case of 'bah humbug.'  .... I kind of don't. 

I prefer, instead, to rid myself of what drives me crazy about all the crowds and so forth, to dissociate myself from the idea - however accepted it may be - of reciprocity (you give me something so now, I'm obligated to give you something) and of one-upmanship (Aunt Sue had us to her place last year and she had a sumptuous feast; we have to outdo her this year at our place), and instead take a trip in my mind to a dripping cave in a hillside in Middle-Eastern springtime to visit a little baby.  His mom has wrapped him tightly in strips of cloth like a mummy is wrapped, and placed him into a hollowed out rock (nothing wooden in that place except perhaps the pitchfork to toss hay into the rock manger).  That humble scene brings home to me the wonder of the distance God traveled in order to become one of us - all for love.  Not that we loved Him, or that we even COULD - but that He loved us first.

When I focus on that  -  I remember that there is definitely something worthwhile to celebrate.