Oh Happy Day: Exuberance

The rush of holidays at the end of the year always feels like a whirlwind for me. The way Thanksgiving and Christmas meld together in the celebration machine sometimes leaves me no time for transition. I often feel like I need a way to cap off Thanksgiving. With this year’s kicking-and-screaming approach to the 12 Days series focused on giving thanks, it was nice to reacquaint myself with gratitude for those few weeks and to take time to savor some down time with my wonderful gifts before delving into Christmas fun. It encouraged me to look again at cultivating the discipline of thanksgiving week in and week out.

That’s really how the whole Oh Happy Day thing started. I envisioned it as a way of looking at the blessings of each week and acknowledging them on Friday in the tradition of “TGIF.” Only morphed into just “thank God.” It’s a worthy endeavor and I want to revisit it more regularly in the coming months. With that, Oh Happy Day!

Last night we had a time-honored rite of Christmas celebration everywhere. The Christmas Program. Yes, Baby Girl and Bug presented their annual daycare Christmas program slash musical — where musical is not really a musical, but more like an alternating display of stage frightened toddlers and over-exuberant preschoolers. It’s the exuberant part that caught my attention. Oddly enough, this week I’m thankful for The Christmas Program.

Now, I fully realize that the most obvious gratitude-inducers with The Christmas Program would be “Thank God it’s over,” or “Thank God it didn’t last too long,” or “Thank God noone threw up on the stage.” But, as I made my way through the week of fielding questions from Bug about the event, listening to brief and very cute impromptu promos, and hearing “are you going to come and see my Christmas Program?” from him approximately 137 times, his shear exuberance started to take root. I was really looking forward to seeing the result of his hard work and excitement.

Bug had warned me several days ago that he was planning to “sing loud.” Bug does very many things loudly, and having just experienced the Thankgiving luncheon program at the daycare, I knew he was dead serious in his plan. Sure enough, The Christmas Program was NOT a silent night kind of event when his class came to the stage.

Bug was one of the sheep on the hillside. From the moment my little showman took the stage, I could see by the barely contained grin on his face that he was primed for high volume vocals. He looked through the crowd and spotted me with a big smile and his stage presence took over from there. The all-too-brief nap the sheep took prior to the angelic visit was punctuated by Bug’s own stage direction encouraging the rest of his herd to stand up for the next song. His little body was fairly itching to start the hand-motions encouraging us to witness the birth of the Christ child slash baby doll. His face shown with anticipation as his teacher paused in the story narration to queue the songs. Never have I heard a more resounding series of NOELs in response to the angel’s message of good news. It was downright earth-shattering. It’s hard to believe everyone in the Bethlehem Hilton didn’t hear it and rush out to the stable for a bleary-eyed look. The emphatic “Merry Christmas” and wave goodbye at the end showed me that Bug was entirely pleased at his performance and he beamed when I told him I completely agreed.

Thank God for exuberance. It’s so contagious. I’m very grateful for the ability of my four-year-old to maintain exuberance in the silliest of circumstances. And in the most serious of endeavors. Exuberance is engaging. Exuberance is blind to self-consciousness and indecision. It elevates the ordinary into something extraordinary. Exuberance brings pride to something achieved. It acknowledges that a thing is important. Exuberance motivates laughter and tears. It makes me look anew at simple tales and simple truths. Exuberance makes me grateful for having reasons to rejoice.

Oh Happy Day!

December’s Call

For me and mine, December’s call is Christmas. The month when we celebrate the birth of Jesus. The month when we try to reclaim the simplicity of the manger from all the hoopla of Transformers and discounted promotions and glossy packages. We pull our decorations from the attic and I watch as Little Drummer Boy, Bug and Baby Girl explore their wonder in a fresh way. There will be some things LDB and Bug remember from other years. There probably won’t be much that Baby Girl remembers. But, we will begin fresh memories with these traditions and the “things” that fuel them.

The “call” in this month’s desktop wallpaper is an ancient one…

“Let us now go even unto Bethlehem and see this thing which has come to pass, which the Lord has made known to us.”

Spoken on a smelly hillside among wooly beasts, it was birthed from a brilliant display of angelic light. Light that pierced the night with fear, then amazement, then wonder, then motivation. “Let us now go.” I’ve always taken comfort in the fact that this first revelation of the Christ Child’s birth was delivered to men who were quite comfortable in the setting where he was born. No, a barn wouldn’t necessarily be my first choice for giving birth. It’s a far cry from the sterile environment where my own children drew their first breaths. But, I believe that though the busy-ness of Bethlehem may have necessitated this unexpected birthing suite, in God’s providence, it was His first choice. And the setting somehow elevated the miracle beyond the improbable to the far-reaching. The shepherd band had no qualms about seeking a Savior in a stable. Perhaps they would have hesitated, had their destination been a palace of gold and jewels. But, in the darkness, with the scent of animals on their clothing and the weariness of the night watch at their backs, they issued December’s call. They wanted to see the thing the angels had described. This blessed event heralded by magnificent beings in a place that was so familiar to them.

His birth was kind-hearted. Kind in that he aligned Himself with the lowly from that first moment in this sphere. With the ill-scented. With the uneducated. With the working class. With the disheveled and unkept. With the beasts of this life. What better place for a Savior?

[With this month's desktop wallpaper, I also did a little iphone wallpaper version to enjoy with my phone. Feel free to click either (or both) and download to enjoy with your technology this season.]

A Boy and His Transformer

I bought my first Christmas gift in October — two, actually.

I’m not one of those early shoppers, but these two were necessary somehow. Little Drummer Boy and I were in Wal-mart looking for a meager prize befitting a 4-year-old in reward for something or another. As we rounded the corner of the car section, there it was. The Transformer Aisle. I tried my best to escape it, but LDB was mesmerized. Disney World has nothing on the Transformer Aisle in the eyes of a 4-year-old boy , at least not this particular boy.

Among the multitude of Transformer options, I was amazed at how many LDB recognized and how much he knew about them. I must admit that my only frame of reference for Transformers is the big boy underwear LDB loves and the need to turn OFF the Super Bowl last February as a result of LDB seeing one of the movie’s advertising spots. Needless to say, that particular reference was a little unimpressive. But, apparently one of his preschool friends is the consummate authority on Transformers and had been kind enough to share that knowledge with my little guy. J’s tidbits of information and Quiver’s modern-day version of “more than meets the eye” were all the requirements for a full-fledged Transformer love. Apparently.

As it turned out, 12″ versions of the robots complete with sounds and movement and eyes that light up all blue and menacing when you push the buttons were conveniently located on the bottom shelf of Transformer Aisle. Thank you, Wal-mart and your mass marketing machine. The toys had Mommy red flags all over them–mean voices, weapons of mass destruction, weapons of any kind, scary sounds. But, Little Drummer Boy was enamored. I let him know that they were too expensive for the “prize” we really came for and that I would think about them for Christmas. That’s all it took.

There were two transformers I vetoed right off the bat. They were all black with even weirder names and only mean monster-like sounds. I just couldn’t do it. But, I was more open to the other two. I guess Little Drummer Boy could tell because he began his sell pitch: “Please! Can we please, please get it for Christmas?” “They only kill bad guys.” “I won’t push the buttons.”– all very transparent attempts to comply with Mommy’s toy idiosyncrasies, while letting me know how much his heart was set on Transformers. I knew right away that this was a desire from which he would not be distracted. Time and distance from the Transformer Aisle would not squelch his memory or longing for these particular 12″ varieties.

It was the first toy Little Drummer Boy had ever really, really wanted–at least wanted for more than the ten minutes he was faced with the experience of being enticed by it. It was the first time it had actually registered in his mind that he would be getting presents for Christmas. We left the store with his hopes firmly in tact and my delimna brewing. LDB wanted something and I had the power to give it to him. Was there really anything else I needed to know?

Don’t you wish that’s how it always worked? Somebody wants something, and they have the audacity to ask for it, to actually articulate that desire, that need. I think the world might be a very different place if that’s how it most often happened. Unfortunately, it’s a little unusual for people in this world–the ones in my house, the ones in line at my Wal-mart, the ones in my InBox and in my neighborhood. It’s sadly unusual for folks to exercise the courage to say what they really want, what they really need. But, the reality is that hearts’ desires are often common between us at our most basic. It’s simply up to me to pay attention sometimes.

I’ve been thinking about gifts lately, it being the Christmas season and all. More specifically, I’ve been thinking about the far-reaching impact of gifts given inspite of yourself and the responsibility borne by those who are gifted, which we all are. We all have a sphere of influence at our disposal. The question is whether we are willing to engage it. We all have the power to give the gifts people we know (and those we don’t) really want. Mercy, freedom, shamelessness, forgiveness, absolution, courage, time, words, affirmation, attention, kindness, love. They are gifts relatively easy to give, if I don’t mind giving myself.

The gift of myself is the most natural one of all, but so often like those Transformers, I must do it inspite of myself, inspite of my own idiosyncrasies, my own self-absorption, my own hang-ups and hot-button issues, my own needs. I’m learning slowly but surely that it can be done. If I’m willing.

Back to October. Little Drummer Boy’s questions and hopes remained alive. He must have asked me fifty times a day, every day: “Can we just go LOOK at the Transformers?” “After tomorrow will it be Christmas?” “Can I please get those Transformers for Christmas?” The next week I went to Wal-mart on my lunch hour to buy my first Christmas presents. A twelve inch wing-spreading, trash-talking “Optimus Prime” AND a yellow bad-to-the bone “Bumblebee” Transformer. Wrapped in plastic bags, they found a place on the top shelf of our storage closet.

Fast forward to Friday, Christmas Day. I love the moment of truth on Christmas morning when my gifts get to see all the presents I’ve chosen for them and through much love (and a little frustration) unpackaged and carefully arranged for their wonder. When Little Drummer Boy rounded the corner of the couch and saw his particular stack, the shiny, red bicycle was completely lost as his smiling expression mouthed, “the Transformers.” He just turned around and looked at me. Then, before even approaching the gifts, he stopped to give me a hug and say “I love you, Mommy.” He hasn’t stopped pushing the buttons and banging their heads together since.

Yep, I caved. To mass marketing, to total boy-dom, to overpriced merchandise, to fighting robots, to epic battles and impending doom.  I completely gave myself to the innocent attempts to comply with cease-fires, to the sweet smile and “I love you, Mommy”… to a boy and his Transformers. And, it was worth it. Giving gifts inspite of yourself almost always is.

Tues Ten 120809: Christmas Spirits

I’ve been at home for much of the last two days recuperating from some sort of respiratory infection. During my sojourn on the couch, I’ve had the occasion to look pretty closely at our Christmas tree. A lovely sight. I was actually in the bed on Sunday when most of it was being decorated, a very unusual situation since I’m such a celebration and tradition junkie. The tradition of trimming the Christmas tree is pretty big for me, and this weekend it was only eclipsed by my total inability to take a deep breath.

Having now had the opportunity to gaze at the finished product, I’ve seen a few spirits from Christmases past. You can tell a lot about a person by the ornaments on their Christmas tree. Now, I won’t begin to draw any comparisons between tree trimming and Myers-Briggs or anything, but suffice it to say that I saw a lot of myself in some of those ornaments. I thought I’d share for this week’s Tuesday Ten: 10 lovely ghosts.

1. A big orange square–at least that’s what Bug calls it. This big orange construction paper square is turned on it’s side to be a diamond and framed with popsicle sticks with a pipe cleaner hanger. It’s filled with little swirlies and the words “God with us,” all covered with glitter. It was a craft project I did with a bunch of 4-year-old children at Sunday School quite a few years ago. Those kids are high schoolers now. My how time flies! I’ll never forget the wide eyed smiles at the prospect of using glitter, as well as the strained looks of concern from some of the parents. It may have been the first time glitter had played a starring role in Sunday School. But, hey, what’s a Christmas tree without a little glitter? That’s what vacuum cleaners were made for!

2. A Coke can from 1993. Its only qualification as a Christmas tree ornament is the great picture of Santa printed on the side–an odd choice of ornament, I know. The Coke can represents a new beginning and a sense of freedom for me. It was the first Christmas after my divorce from my first husband and the first Christmas I had in my own apartment as a single woman. In a sense, it was my first Christmas tree–at least the first unencumbered by the sense that there had been something just not right in my life. Some college boy added it to my Christmas tree at a party I had that year. I was so thankful for a wide and unique circle of friends who were willing to share the sacred act of tree trimming and Cokes.

3. A Frank Lloyd Wright detail. I bought it on a trip to the Chicago area where I saw Wright’s home and the Robie house. It’s a replica of some pattern from one of the windows or floor inlay or some other exquisite piece of Frank Lloyd Wright’s obsession with the details of the built environment. It reminds me of a time when I was able to stand in some of the best spaces built in the twentieth century, and of a time when I was immersed in buildings and their architects — a place I still find myself every now and then.

4. A reindeer made of clothes pins. It has wiggly eyes and a red pom-pom nose — not an unusual holiday craft. What is unusual is that I received it from a Malaysian graduate student named Wing we knew quite a few years ago. He had visited my house on many occasions and knew of my general Christmas-Crazy tendencies. Before he left Starkville to go home, he brought me a zip lock bag filled with ornaments he’d bought in his short few years in the states. I suppose he wanted them to have a good home, and I think they do.

5. A mother goose book, a parachuting bear and a pajama-clad girl holding a lamb. Yep, these were bought in 2005, 2006 and 2008 at the local ever-correspondent Hallmark shop. I couldn’t resist commemorating the years of my gifts’ births.

6. A shiny blue box with a plastic gold ribbon. It probably came in a package of eight or ten and cost about 89 cents sometime in the 1970s. My mother began my path of being a celebration junkie with her unsquelched ability to make almost any situation celebration-worthy simply by how you pay attention to it. When I was a child she made a production of decorating for Christmas. One of the things she always did in our living room was put a pile of those tiny and shiny multi-colored dime store packages into a little gold and porcelain bowl that normally sat on one of the shelves. There was something about the shine that I just couldn’t resist. She gave me the blue one for my room, which was quite a treasure at the time.

7. A hot pink die with silver dots — as in dice (like craps). I bought the wacky piece on the first of two summers I spent in Las Vegas during my college years. Proof that what happens in Vegas doesn’t necessarily stay there.

8. A large mouth bass in a Santa hat. Yep, it’s kind of funny, especially since it’s tail fin is partially missing due to an unfortunate incident with Buddy the Cat. Before Quiver and I married, I gave it to him atop a tiny lighted Christmas tree decorated with red fishing worms and bobbers–the only Christmas decoration his bachelor abode had seen. It was his first experience with my insistence on Christmas cheer, a reality that still takes some recovery time each year.

9. A yellow glass tear-drop shaped ball – with a red center. You’ve seen them before at your grandmother’s or in some book on nostalgic ornaments. I have absolutely no memories associated with it. I bought it at a junk store in a package of four — two yellow and two pink. The celephane was missing from the yellowed box and it had all the great typefaces and illustrations so common in the 1950s. I simply couldn’t resist the notion that it had led a life of its own on some unknown Christmas tree, and I had to give it new life on mine.

10. FPCCC 2007 written on a red wooden stocking. It was a gift to Little Drummer Boy from one of his classmates a few years ago. It hangs alongside lots of other little inexpensive ornaments like holiday bookmarks, ribbon ornaments with names on them and cross-stitched bells that were gifts to me from classmates when I was a child. I guess some traditions just come naturally.

O Christmas Tree.

CultureSpeak: “Go Christmas”

Cultural Context: A line from this recent Gap television ad produced in (supposed) response to an American Family Association boycott prompted by Gap, Inc’s “censorship” of “Christmas” in holiday promotions for Gap, Banana Republic and Old Navy. According to the AFA website, the complete lyrics of the commercial are:

“Two, Four, Six, Eight, now’s the time to liberate
Go Christmas, Go Hanukkah, Go Kwanza, Go Solstice.
Go classic tree, go plastic tree, go plant a tree, go add a tree,
You 86 the rules, you do what feels just right.
Happy do whatever you wanukkah, and to all a cheery night.

Go Christmas, Go Hanukkah, go whatever holiday you wanukkah.”

Hmmm.  I have a few questions, starting with this:
Is that better, AFA?

In their updated online “action” memo response from 11/16, the American Family Association first takes a small victory lap by saying, “as a result of your actions, Gap has produced a television commercial that uses the word ‘Christmas.” Great job! AFA and its supporters have succeeded in encouraging a major retailer to lump Christmas in with whatever other December holiday you “wanukkah.” But, hey, they used the word “Christmas.”

Of course, the AFA website goes on to denounce the ad as “dismissive and disrespectful,” and for many Christians it probably is–which begs my next question. What do you expect?

In a LATimes editorial, Dan Neil asks his own question:

“Why, for example, is the phrase “Happy holidays” so insufferable to Christian fundamentalists, but not the vulgar, surfeiting exploitation of Christ’s name to sell smokeless ashtrays, dessert toppings, Droid phones and trampolines?”

I’m wondering that myself. Retailers do want my holiday money, and they’re going to advertise to get it–just like they do every other month of the year. Why do Christians want Christ’s name out there hawking all kinds of merchandise?From all appearances, Gap, Inc is a secular company. I think I’d be safe to assume that since it made the “Against Christmas” column in AFA’s “Naughty or Nice” holiday retailer list this year. Can we honestly expect a secular company to produce a true interpretation of the monumental value of Jesus’ birth? I’m thinking NO. So is the AFA asking for lip service? It looks that way. And, that’s exactly what it got.

I whole-heartedly agree that Jesus Christ is the center of true Christmas, a celebration of His birth–the earthly beginning of His road to the cross to purchase my salvation through His death. I also happen to believe that the December 25th holiday we call Christmas is a man-made ritual with a colorful history that exists for any number of cultural and spiritual reasons. It isn’t found in the Bible. As a Christian, I do want to ensure that I’m putting value in the right places during the season and focusing on the incredible gift God gave us in His Son becoming flesh. However…

I find this whole Gap/”Happy Holidays” battle to be a ridiculous sidestep of the real issues. It’s cosmetics. And, in the name of bringing out the truth of Christmas, this boycott campaign is completely false at its foundation. How can we possibly expect a culture so prevalently at odds with Christ to produce something that honors Him, to be the bearer of the Christmas message? Why do we even want to try?

To borrow some Biblical metaphors… Salt whets a thirsty world’s need for living water. Why insist on sprinkling it with a bunch of tasteless, low sodium substitutes? Whole and redeemed vessels can pour that water into thirsty souls all around us. Why demand that hopelessly cracked vessels carry it?

Dear AFA,
Broken cisterns can’t hold water. Maybe your battle is the wrong one.

[For the record, I probably won't be purchasing anything from Gap during the holiday season this year--mainly because I'm 5'1" and their sleeves are always way too long. Baby Gap could be another story.]