The Gifts of the Magi Visit

 The Monday before Christmas, I opened my emails and found an e-card from a student I only taught for a week.  She told me I helped her understand the assignment and thanked me for substituting when her teacher was ill.  

In that moment, I felt overpaid to have received such thanks.   

In class that afternoon, a student revealed they didn't think they'd receive gifts for Christmas in the midst of the chatter in a Zoom lesson.  Within hours, after an exchange of emails, they received food and a little something to make the time away even from this virtual experience of school, more pleasant, more celebratory.   

I waited for the third king of Christmas.  We'd had wisdom and with it gratitude, and we'd had need answered.  That afternoon, we needed to get to a therapy appointment, and found ourselves going through a live nativity display on the way home.  My daughter delighted in the beauty and the joy and the imaginative creation of the early part of Christ's life and her happiness became mine.  

It's easy to get jaded and tired and overwhelmed, especially in this year that could be defined almost exclusively in negative and unhappy terms.  Yet this year has brought with it the secret joy of time, time with our family that would otherwise be in commute, time together at meals that would normally be on the road or rushed, and time in the evening, when we might be going to a thousand extra curricular activities.  Instead, we are here.  

God has given us in this time, the gift we would not give ourselves, time with each other.   God has given us in this time, a gift we've ignored, the opportunity to rest, to eat, to be with those we love, to have ordinary time beyond what would ordinarily be possible. 

This Christmas, practice the wisdom of the three kings that visited me in the Advent season, be thankful and make a point of thanking others.  Be alert to the needs of others as they are voiced, even when they are voiced by what is not said.  Take delight in beauty, because that's the purpose of beauty.   And, recognize that God always offers us gifts in every age, in every time, in all circumstances.  They are often the gifts we lack the will to provide for ourselves or others. They contain in them, peace not of this world, and joy only possible in the company of others.   

Merry Christmas! 

FREE THE CHRISTMAS CAROLS!

 For the past fifteen years or so, the local radio station has played 24-7 Christmas carols from November 15th on and my kids love it.   I have a love hate relationship with the station, because they seem intent every year on fixing a rotation that includes about 25 songs and 10 reserve rookies that they pull up durring off hours.   It means you will hear all 35 in the rotation in about three hours if there are no repeats.  Since there are always repeats, you will hear all 35 songs at least three times a day.   Bottom line, it will get old fast. 

My kids bought me an Alexa for my birthday last year, and I thought this would solve the problem, but Alexa has her own opinions about music and as much as you might ask for "We need a little Christmas" from That Christmas Feeling, you'll get the Glee version.  If you ask for Christmas music in general, you'll get the 35 rotation set.   Now I know, there are many more Christmas songs, good, bad, sappy, syrupy and great, modern and old, jazzed and country, choral and orchestral than get played by either Alexa or the station, but they're somehow locked away by the algorithms.   

I have a solution. I've become deliberate with Alexa and the radio station, making specific requests for songs that need more airtime.  I'm hoping hearing a human voice asking for human voices will get somewhere.  So far, I've found out you can irritate a robot and that no one is at the station taking our calls.  I'm not discouraged, I'm determined.   Singing acapella works for the Penatonix because they can sing.  Singing my favorites to Alexa might be what causes the eventaul A.I. uprising against the fleshy ones, but I'm determined to remind the powers that be that make decisions about what will and won't be heard that there are worse things to shatter the silence than songs by other than the pre-tested 35 selected chestnuts of the season, so that maybe when I call again, they'll pick up the phone.  

Feat of the Epiphany

 A few years ago, the lights went out in my laundry room and in the pantry.   We put in new bulbs, checked the fuses and tried several unsuccessful work arounds --battery operated and motion sensor lights.  Nothing worked. Not really.  We grew used to hitting the flashlight on our phones when we'd need to search for herb de provence or needed to find the fabric softener.  

This past week, the repairman we asked to help with some tile work, fixed both lights.  

My children and I remain in the dark on this matter.  We walk in like we've always walked in, searching the shadows for the couscous or the bounce dryer sheets, and someone (who will feel quite superior in the moment), will say, "You know, the light switch works." and flick it accordingly with all the smugness they can muster.  However, everyone's been caught groping through the darkness in either the landry room or pantry closet, so everyone's been the smug and the mugged by smugness at least twice.    

None of us remember.  None of us even remember we were the ones who did the mocking last time.  Lost in the moment when we've decided to move along the wash or hunt for the hot chocolate mix, we've now resorted to explaining why we didn't turn on the lights.  The following may or may not have been used by any or all of those of us who use those two rooms on a regular basis and do not flick the switch. 

10) Batman defense: I can see in the dark. 

9) Starwars defense:I don't need to see what I'm doing, I am one with the force and the force is one with me...

8) Saving the earth by saving energy. --this would work if any other lights in the house were turned off ever...

7) Just hadn't made it over to the light switch yet.  --this is mine, I'll get to it..no one buys my stalling thoough.  

6)  Preserving the light switch. It's been so long since we've had one, we're having attachment issues with the mechanism.  

5) Can't find the light switch --because it's dark and it's been so long, we don't remember where it is in the room.   

4) I turned it on, someone else turned it off just to mess with me.    I'd believe this if any of us ever remembered in the first place. 

3) The lightbulbs burnt out.  One of my older sons attempted this one, and I went to get the ladder, resulting in the Reagan policy, "Trust but verify." 

2) I have my cell phone --old habits die hard.   

1) I remembered after I walked in,but knew someone else would take care of it.  (It kind of deflates the smug factor if you bank on others taking care of the task for you) --not sure if it's true, fairly sure it isn't.   

There is hope for change. Today, I found the closet with the light left on...

Everything is Deliberate

 If you've ever been on the receiving end of a phoned in meal, assignment, gift or chore you understand the flatness inattentiveness to detail.  You recognzie and can feel the absence of salt in the giving.  We want everyone to think and put energy into what they do. It's why we love a beautiful light dispaly, well decorated cookies and a handwrapped gift.  It's why we love the unexpected pleasure of thoughtfullness that flavors most of our experience of this season even more than peppermint, chocolate or pumpkin spice.   

The reality of living a faith life well, is that flavoring, that deliberate infusion of love into everything.  It includes added enthusiasm, detail, generosity, humility, and a dollop of good cheer.  Living life in good faith means giving to others and presuming of others the same.   The conversion of Scrooge feels real, because he goes from doing the minimum to exist, to the penultimate to thrive.   Joy seasons his life, and the difference is tangible in all he does. 

Decorating the tree, the cookies, lighting the candles, wrapping the presents, sending cards, all of these things reveal love, attention to beauty, to joy, to warmth, to light, to caring, to thinking of others rather than ourselves.   Today is Gaudete Sunday, meaning rejoice.   Rejoicing is also deliberate. This Sunday is a call to each of us to dust off the spiritual sloth that winter can cause, to be deliberate and joyful in all we do.   

My dad and mom made bourbon balls on this Sunday, to give to the court clerks.  It was a joyful memory, it is a joyful tradition.  For me, it is the taste of Gaudete Sunday.  They were deliberate in making these for others, and it brought much joy and still does.  It is not an ordinary thing, and that is part of what makes it special.  It is deliberate.    

I hope it will be a tradition for my children one day too.  The bourbon balls aren't for court clerks, but they are a fun way to breathe on the embers of enthusiasm that might otherwise be waning in these last twelve days of Advent.   

Here's the recipe:  Bourbon Balls  

1 12 onz box vanilla wafers

1 cup powdered sugar

2 Tablespoons Cocoa

1 cup chopped walnuts

3 Tablespoons of Kayro syrup (white or light)

1/2 cup bourbon

Extra Powdered Sugar

Crush wafers into fine powder, add sugar and cocoa and mix, add walnets and mix, add three tablespoons of syrup and burbon to dough.  Mix.  Form into 1 inch balls by hand and place on a cookie sheet.  Sprinkle in powdered sugar.  Store in airtight container.   Add more bourbon if the mixture seems dry. 

 --taken from my mom's recipe in Cooking with Saint Anne, Saint Anne's Catholic Church in Beaumont.   

I would tell you, buy more than one box of cookies...because there are always snackers.  Twelve days to go....

On Today's Metrics

I saw a picture from last December when we all dressed up for StarWars and went to the movies. I remember, we bought three big bottomless barrels of popcorn and huge sodas to share. We walked around the outside shopping mall in costume, enjoying the stares at all eleven of us. (One daughter was still in exams at school). It was a carefully crafted and yet carefree memory that seems much further away than 365 days. Everything about that evening is not possible now.

We've had nine hundred fifty-eight deaths since we started tracking Covid-19 cases in our county alone, even with the restrictions we've endured over the course of now nine months. Montgomery County, Maryland is stricter than most places, and still, the numbers keep going up, because people bustle, people shop, and people want to believe somehow, it's over.

Today, five hundred fourty-four people were diagnosed with Covid, and the beds in acute care and ICU for patients suffering from this disease are at 81 and 76% capacity respectively. These numbers are beyond what the county wanted to have for opening up, and yet somehow, that is the discussion in the arenas of policy making, in the halls of government.

Thinking it would be nice is not science or policy, it's wishing. Big picture, I would like to see my mom and siblings and their children and my husband's family. Little picture, I would like to be able to go impulsively into stores and shop, like tonight when we made soup, extra french bread would have been nice.

Having the liberty to do as one will would be nice, but the price would be more people who know someone in that ever growing total who died; more people who cope with someone who is permanently affected. It isn't worth the bread, and as a county, we don't have the beds. It is a nothing of a sacrifice, to tell one's self "no," and yet a necessary nothing.

It would be nice to have birthday parties, but I don't want to host funerals no one can attend. It would be nice to travel, but every trip leaves a wake we don't want to have lead to a wake. All of what we want would be nice, but a civil and just society requires that we surrender what we want and would like, for what will ensure as many of us can be, still are. The liberty to do as one wants still exists, but at the price of others. That's not a civil society, that's a nation of islands, of souls who do not mind as long as they do not pay the cost and do not presume they will pay the cost for doing what they want.

We would like to be able to be fully present to each other, before this alters how we cope with life permanently. My youngest daughter walks on the balls of her feet, and has so despite our best efforts for so long, she must wear casts to relearn how to walk properly, to reallign her hips and ensure she retains full range of motion. It is not a fun process but it is necessary. We are going to need casts of sorts to cast off the rigidity of this type of living if we must go on with this kind of living. We must remember, this is temporary, and what we don't want, is permanent scars from the process.

So hold on, hold onto today, and be kind to everyone because everyone is enduring this trauma, this long winter of discontent, and everyone longs for the freedom we all took for granted and ignored all our lives until this past year. Hold onto all the necessary nothings that take place in this sort of quarantine. I am reading to my children and recognizing all these days here, are stollen summers and snow days even with all the assignments and tasks and fatiguing zooms attached. This time won't last forever, and all this time now, will be remembered as a gift if we help shape the way these moments are spent with each other.

Life Outside Is Always More Interesting

The hot dog bought at the baseball game tastes better than the one cooked at home.  The sweater found in the thrift store is more fashionable than any bought by Mom.  Every gift offered is not as valuable to the one who receives it, as the ones they seek themselves.  

No one who is a parent ever gets credit from their kids for any expertise they might have based on degree, profession or even prior experience with prior children.   We can be accomplished as one wishes, but everywhere else is more compelling than anything close to home.   The hard dicotomy of parenting teens and adolescents and being a parent to adults is, they want your help but always and only one their terms, and sometimes, not even then.  

It's not that they're ungrateful, it's that we are the water in which these fish swim.  They expect to breathe. They do not know themselves to be wet.  We've spent their whole lives ensuring they're fed, they're kept warm, they're kept clean and while they know they need and want the whole of the world, they and we don't now if they can endure the ocean.  

Figuring out how to manage and support is a process of determining what they and we will bear, and how to always respond with love even when everything feels tired and worn. It's work but the hardest part of it is knowing everything could be easy but it won't be. 

That's the hardest part of parenting, knowing it will be hard and unnecessarily so.  Parenting not kids, not toddlers, not babies, means loving through the rough spots, when the outside seems always more interesting, and knowing the interior is where the work must be done.   

Covered the Cardinal's mass at Saint Martin's Yesterday

 As a parishioner, I've had the blessing of being at the beginning of the Centenial Year Mass at the November 19, 2019 mass, and at the close, Returning Home from Rome, Cardinal Celebrates Centenial Mass for Gaithersburg Parish.   

Have a piece over at the Register today...

 How to Begin This Advent

Have a piece over at W.I.N.E today...

 Ask and You Shall Receive.