Haul Out the Holly...

"...Put up the tree before my spirit falls again..."

Never before do I remember a Christmas song speaking to my condition so perfectly.  Friends, it was a miserable Advent.

During the first week, right after Thanksgiving, two families in town lost their eldest daughters, lovely young women, both,  within days of each other, both passings unexpected and tragic.  The families involved were well-known around town.  The entire community mourned.

The sorrow had a personal edge to me because one set of parents had been our neighbors back before we had kids.  Their daughter was only about a year older than Amelia.  I can remember their joy at being new parents, and it was right around the time that I was introduced to their baby that I discovered that I was going to be a parent myself.

It definitely cast a pall.

Then, on a more personal front, a close family member started losing his battle with mental illness.  Actually, to use the word "losing" would seem to imply that he is fighting it.  Actually, he's being overwhelmed by it.  And part of it, of course, is a complete lack of insight into the fact that he might have a problem.  It's vexing, concerning, and heart-breaking, and there is really nothing anyone can do about it. 

I tried to liken this constant low-level anxiety and sorrow as going through Advent while wearing a heavy backpack or having a stone in your shoe.  The analogy didn't work, however, because a backpack can be set down and a stone removed.  This situation doesn't have such an ending, and the situation could get worse before it gets better.

What can a person do but let go and let God.  And worry.  And pray.  A lot.

My answer was what I called Christmas Therapy.  I would set-aside time to immerse myself in what makes me happy during the season.  It is a time for light and love and I gave myself permission to create a little joy.

I'm not a big fan of shopping.  Just ask my daughters.  (Unless it's for food. I can go a little nuts at a farmer's market!)  I'm not a recreational shopper unless it's at a thrift store, and even then I lose interest if there isn't anything I feel I need.  But then I discovered shopping for others.

I love our town's Helping Hands program that anonymously matches low-income families with people willing to buy presents.  Now there is shopping I can get into!  How can I feel bad spending money and participating in the mass retail-hysteria when I may be providing the only Christmas presents these kids may be getting?  I love the challenge of maximizing the bang for my buck - finding stuff that is useful AND fun.  Even if the family only asks for clothes or coats for the little ones, there has to be at least one book or toy included.  This year Miriam and I shopped for a teen-aged and a tween-aged girl.  Miriam was AWESOME at finding fashionable, affordable stuff at stores I would never have considered.  And we've also made it a tradition to include a stocking that includes nice soaps, shampoos, toothbrushes and toothpaste, lotions...stuff that can't be bought with foodstamps and are usually a lower-level financial priority.

One afternoon I closed the curtains against the December rain, turned on the Christmas lights, lit a few candles, put on some quality seasonal music, and wrapped the presents for the family.  I prayed as I worked that the gifts would bring joy.  In my mind I heard delighted squeals from the girls as they discovered their treasures, and I felt their grandmother's relief that they were able to have presents.  And in the very unlikely event that they were NOT appreciative, I would never find out, which relieves a lot of the pressure of gift giving.  It was a nice moment.

There were other, more minor, setbacks threatening to destroy my Christmas spirits.  The horrible head cold/sinus infection I had over the Thanksgiving holiday didn't help.  Nor did the unexpected demise of my upright freezer on the same day I had returned from Costco with Christmas supplies.  That was a bad moment.

But I worked to focus on the joy.  The joy of having both my daughters home.  Indulging my love of baking, even to excess.  (Five kinds of cookies baked, four more doughs in the refrigerator!)  Reveling in the glow of the Christmas tree.  Setting my creative forces free designing my cards and newsletter.  (I now have a keen sympathy for clergy folks who have to write sermons on the same themes year after year - it ain't easy coming up with fresh approaches!)

The beauty of joy, of course, is that it begets more joy.  Social science research has shown that people are more likely to be altruistic after a positive event such as being given a cookie.  Happy people are more likely to do nice things, which spreads the happiness to others.

So I guess my Christmas message to all of you is to find that metaphorical cookie, and share it with others.  I read a great newspaper article about people who were anonymously paying off Christmas lay-aways for families.  But no action is too small.  I find it gratifying to treat retail workers this time of year as people who deserve patience and gratitude, and I was rewarded with genuine wishes for a good rest of my day.  And there were days I needed that! 

Luckily, I live in a liturgical calendar in which Christmas is a season and not a singular event.  So I can still say "Oh yes I need a little Christmas, right this very minute...I need a little Christmas now!"

No Man is an Island...He's a Peninsula

I stole that from The Jefferson Airplane, "A Small Package of Value Will Come to You, Shortly," track 2 on After Bathing at Baxter's.

This is a sequel to "I am a Rock." (Hint: Reading it will make the following make a lot more sense!) I'm here to attest that there are such things as happy endings.

I wrote "Rock" because I was obsessing over that fact that a friend had owned up to keeping distance between us.  And now, as they say, for the rest of the story.

What happened next was that we e-mailed.  And we talked.  And we e-mailed some more.  She told me how she honestly felt and I did some much-needed soul searching.  We both did some apologizing, and I can truly say that I understand why she felt the need to pull away and have no problem with that.

And it felt like old times, in a way, because we are so comfortable with each other.  We can still laugh and chatter.  Our friendship is not broken.  It's better.

I'm not a rock. I'm not an island!