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an everyday life

an everyday life

Monthly Archives: December 2009

All Atwitter in Galilee

07 Monday Dec 2009

Posted by Janell in Soul Care

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Everyday Life, Mary and Elizabeth, Soul Care, Writing

In anticipation of Thursday evening’s prayer meditation, I’m contemplating the untold story of Elizabeth and the Virgin Mary, the two who became miraculously pregnant after being forewarned by the same angel, five months apart.  One woman was old and so barren; the other young and so unmarried.  And I ask:  Am I the only one to wonder what the neighbors said about all of this?

Luke tells the story with the barest of details.  By all accounts, the neighbors didn’t say much at all.  The way Luke tells the story, it looks as if  Mary was on the run and Elizabeth was in hiding.  And both women appeared to be doing their darned best to keep their story under wraps.

No one knows the age of either.  We only know Mary was a virgin.  And twice Luke tells us that Elizabeth was “getting on in years.”  Elizabeth must have been really old since the usual eloquent Luke feels the need to repeat himself to ensure we don’t miss this important detail.  And maybe it’s because I too am “getting on in years” and past the age of child-bearing that I have a special interest in the details of Elizabeth’s story.

Luke tells us that Elizabeth is full of joy to have finally conceived.  This woman has waited all her long life to become a mother.  And rather than making the rounds at all the neighbor’s houses and sharing her good news with all her oldest and dearest friends — and I do mean OLD friends — Elizabeth goes into seclusion.  For five long months she sits and waits.  Was Elizabeth afraid to move or speak for fear of miscarriage?  Was the local gossip mill all atwitter about dear old Elizabeth finally getting pregnant?   If Luke knew, he didn’t bother to say.

We do know that six months later, a barely pregnant Virgin Mary shows up on Elizabeth’s doorstep.  And Mary is welcomed by Elizabeth with open arms and heady words.  The two women bless one another with their words and their presence.

Mary affirms Elizabeth and Elizabeth affirms Mary.  And don’t you know that in their mutual support of one another, that they both felt better about their being in the family way, even if it came about during an indecent and inconvenient time of their lives?  It’s so much easier to talk to someone who has walked or is walking in your same shoes.

Mary and Elizabeth had such a fine time together, that Luke tells us that Mary stayed with Elizabeth for three entire months.  And though Luke doesn’t say, I can’t imagine that Mary left Elizabeth until that bouncy healthy baby boy was delivered safe and full of sound.

There’s no way to really know all the details I’d like to know.  But one’s things for certain:  if a gossip had written the story, I bet we’d know all the pertinent details and then some.  And be all atwitter for their telling.

Because in two thousand years, people haven’t really changed that much.  Then and now, gossip and judgment of others spreads like wildfire until it burns itself out.  Or until a new story comes along to tantalize our interest.  It won’t be long before Tiger Woods will be out of the woodshed.

Focusing on others and their untold stories is so much easier than focusing on our own.  And I cringe at judgment, whenever and wherever I hear it.   I always want folks to play nice, to remember that we’re all human, that no one is good but God alone.  At least if we choose to believe what Jesus said.

And rather than bite my tongue, I find myself defending the guilty for being all too human.  And  as I judge the judges, I wonder where and when all the judging stops?  Who cares what the neighbors think?  Lord, help me to bite my tongue and just sit and listen.

Perhaps Luke was right to take the higher road in telling his story, to keep the good news from being tarnished by so much idle twitter.

The Stage is Set

06 Sunday Dec 2009

Posted by Janell in Life at Home, Soul Care

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

Christmas Story, Mesta Park, Raising Children, Soul Care

The Nativity Stage is Set

Writing proved good therapy yesterday as it lifted my blues and allowed me to pick up the pieces of my day; as soon as the post was published, my husband and I bundled up in our coats and hats.  Then we walked west to visit this year’s Mesta Park tour homes.

The homes were well-staged.  Everywhere I looked I found some little treasure, some little historical detail that had survived who know’s how many owners to share their hundred year old story.  And of course, the homes were dressed in their holiday finest.

But as nice as the homes were, it’s always good to come through my own front door.  I walk in through the small vestibule to see it all with fresh eyes;  immediately, I spot the greenery that covers my banister.  Then my eye falls on the unadorned tree.

Not quite a “Charlie Brown” Christmas tree, our ten-year old artificial tree is small in stature.  Four feet from top to bottom.  Most of our ornaments, purchased to dress a nine-foot tree, don’t even make it out of the basement anymore.   First priority goes to all the decorations made by our children when they were little boys and girls.  Any remaining space goes to ornaments that tell stories about our lives — people, places and events.

This ornament made by Kara’s six-year old hand always get a choice spot.  After all, the little glitter paper star  tells the story behind Christmas itself.  Love is the star of the Christmas story.  From beginning to end, Christmas is about love.

God loves Kara.  God loves me.  God loves you.  It boggles our mind that this should be so, for Lord knows,  there’s nothing that we can do or say to deserve it.  And little Kara is so obviously confused about this message of love.  A nice teacher probably wrote the story in big and bold red letters, as teachers everywhere are known to do.  But little Kara working in blue highlighter can’t quite get her writing hand around the message.

“Kara God loves Kara,” my six-year old child writes.  What was Kara trying to say?  Was it Kara loves God?  Or was she trying to repeat God loves Kara in her own hand, like one who writes a teacher’s words over and over until the lesson sticks.  Or  is it that God’s love begins and ends with Kara?  And me?  And you?   Whichever it is, just like Kara, we stumble and stutter for the right words and actions to express God’s love, only to have it come out all jumbled.  Lost in translation.

No matter what Kara intended to say, the red pen was right in pronouncing that God loves Kara.  And had we been in that classroom, we would have made stars that told the story that God loves you and I.   This is the ancient love story that was handed down to me and was handed down to whoever my storyteller was… and so on, all the way back to St. John himself, who doesn’t bother with the likes of a nativity story or wise men or shepherds or this bit about there being no room in the inn.

Instead John starts his story all the way back to the beginning of time and says Jesus Christ was there.  And then he rattles around a bit, perhaps a little confused and dazed by all of God’s love just like my six-year old Kara was until FINALLY, John writes a verse that even a six year old can memorize:

“For God so loved the world that he gave his own son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”

And this is John’s Christmas story in a nutshell.  John sets his gospel stage with love.  And he leaves the rest of the story, and even the story itself, to the likes of us.

If I were six, I might tell the story better.

Crosstalk

05 Saturday Dec 2009

Posted by Janell in Life at Home

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

Everyday Life, Prayer, Soul Care, Writing

I don’t know why.  But today I’m feeling blue.  I feel the need to have a good cry.   I was already feeling depleted when my husband got cross with me about nothing important.

It is rare to be in the aim of my husband’s crossfire.  Which may be why it hurts so bad when it comes.   It’s unexpected, so left field.

The Christmas tree, the source of my husband’s angst, sits ready to decorate.  But I’m in no mood to tackle the chore.  It can wait.

Nor am I in the proper frame of mind to write, though Lord knows I need to write; the Advent lesson is finished but I’ve barely begun drafting Thursday’s contemplative prayer meditation.  Then there is still the Christmas letter.  Both writing projects were on today’s agenda.  These too can wait.

This being at cross-purposes will pass, the fog will lift and I’ll soon feel more up to the task of dotting my i’s and crossing my t’s.

My husband apologized for being cross.  Too bad I can’t just flip a switch and be fine again.  Or at least pretend  to be or say that I’m fine — keeping my fingers crossed, of course.

No better to play it honest.  And humble.  And real.  As in, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.”

And suddenly I remember this is the two-year anniversary of my mother’s death, the day Mom crossed from one world to the next.  And maybe when she breathed her last, maybe she offered up, in her mind, these same last words of Jesus, this higher form of crosstalk.

And In a way that I can’t fathom or explain, I’m suddenly feeling much better.  I’m ready to go decorate the tree at least.  And as for writing, well… time and the crossed path will tell.

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