4th Day of Christmas: Song of the Crowded

SCENE:
And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed… And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city.  And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; because he was of the house and lineage of David.  To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child.  And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.  And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him  in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.  (Luke 2:1, 3-7)

SYNTAX:
Crowd.to press, cram, or force tightly together,
to put Pressure on 

SONG:
Running, bumping, pushing and shoving
Busy, busy, everyone is rushing.
So many visitors in Bethlehem  that night,
but, something was strange about this family’s blight.
We didn’t have a room, but he was quite insistent.
Imagine traveling in that condition –
a young man and his wife about to deliver.
She was already cold and starting to shiver.

The inn was all full, not a single bed open.
I know that our stable was not what they were hoping.
My wife and I helped her when it was time for the birth,
and she bore the pain bravely, for the babe had more worth.
They watched Him for hours, seeing something almost wise,
like they saw the face of God when they looked into His eyes.
I never would have believed in the bustle of that night
that we would find such stillness in a tiny infant’s light.

The others without time to wonder what they missed
didn’t see the face that tears had barely kissed,
but, we were reluctant witnesses to an evening filled with awe,
and the busy-ness of our hearts was stilled by what we saw.

SEARCH:
Born in a barn.  How odd.  There, in an animal stall with it’s hay and manure, it was not exactly a scene that commanded attention.  And, by our estimation, it was not a scene fit for a Baby King.  I’ve been in barns.  I wouldn’t want to lay my Baby Girl there.  Yet, by God’s estimation, it was the chosen spot.  The Sovereign Babe had been crowded out by so many other travelers, busy about their tasks.  The Savior of the world had arrived, and there was “no room in the inn.”

A good friend sent me some comments on my recent dignity post, and they really resonated with my hopes for this season.  It was another reminder to pay “intense” attention in our homes so that the important messages aren’t crowded out.  “It is so easy to get caught up in the endless urgency of mothering and miss the quiet, yet intensely important moments,” she said (you know who you are My Fair Lamb–”composition-challenged?” Harumph!)  Truth revealed.  Don’t we live in a world of “endless urgency?”  Each activity, mode of entertainment, and work task is vying to be heard above the din.  Each voice is screaming to be louder than the next.  Especially at Christmas time, our schedules are filled with events and to-dos clamouring to get to the top of our priority list.  Quietness is sometimes lost.   The moment, the experience, the person that is not able or willing to shout is sometimes lost.  As Karol Ladd wrote in her book, The Power of a Positive Mom, the most important thing (or person) is not always the one screaming the loudest.

Mary’s moment of pregnant urgency crashed head-on into Bethlehem’s bulging flow of urgent travelers.  Who knew that the Christ child was about to be born?  No doubt if there had been an ad placed in the Bethlehem Times announcing “New King Born Tonight - Free Drinks,” many would have lined up for tickets.  If a media consultant had sent flyers promising “New King Campaign Rally — Featured Speaker: Joe the Carpenter, t-shirts and bumper stickers for sale, sponsorships available,” many would have raised their signs and cheered.  If the local talk show had announced “Virgin Birth — Live on Monday — Vote for a boy or girl in our on-line poll,” millions would have tuned in.

But, God did not choose to clothe Himself in flesh that way.  Salvation was not designed to be a spectacle.  The God of the universe does not desire to compete to be seen or heard.  No wonder His birth assembled such an odd blend of worshippers.  I hope I would have been one of them.  I hope I’ll choose to be one of them now, this day, this afternoon.

His birth calls me to be still.  Listen.  See.

2nd Day of Thanksgiving: Dreams Realized

I’m thankful for newborn calves, newborn people, bumpy ant hills, jumping boys, crunchy gravel, cupcakes, Radio Flyer wagons, stuffed Elmos, hot dogs, hoodies, and naps.
And, that dreams really do come true.

We spent the weekend at my family’s farm.  We call it Busy Bee, named after a “black” church that was once located in the area.  I don’t know if anyone outside our family knows it by that name, but sometime before I was born the name stuck.  It’s 180 acres of pasture, a herd of cows, baby calves and two bulls, a giant pecan tree, and a three-bedroom farm house where my mom grew up.  And, this weekend it was the place where we realized our dreams.

I spent most weekends there as a child, and for me, it has that comfortable feeling of home that comes from close sleeping quarters, lots of laughter and powerful memories.  My dad has raised cattle there as a hobby my whole life and goes there almost every day, but noone has lived there since my grandparents moved into town.  They are gone now, and the house had fallen into tearful disrepair until a few years ago when my parents renovated it–with some sweat, sneezing and color selection from the rest of us.  I think they had some reservations about investing in the house because it is just a “second” home only 15 minutes from their house in town, and we knew we would probably never spend every weekend there again.  Still, it was time to either renovate it or tear it down–and I begged, even though I knew the financial bullet would be theirs to bite.  I wanted to be able to share the farm with my children “someday.”

“Realizing your dreams” is an interesting phrase.  It implies a sneak-up-on-you quality that separates dreams from goals.  It describes that moment when you are suddenly made aware of having something you’ve always wanted, even if you didn’t know you wanted it.  Dreams are funny things.  We tend to focus on big ones–the once in a lifetime, pie in the sky, ship comes in type of wishes.  Sometimes those big dreams are easy because our mind halfway assumes already that they are out of reach.  It’s the simpler, actually attainable dreams that can scare us.  Those are the sacred desires that reveal our hearts, and show us what we’re really about.  They require an inner commitment beyond just hard work.  They beg for stubborn spirits and firm grasps, not of things and places, but of people–through thick, thin and thorniness.

My grandmother realized her dreams looking out the kitchen window in that farmhouse.  My grandfather realized his dreams listening to beagles hunt rabbits from a lawn chair under that pecan tree.  We realized our dreams in the cab of an extended cab pick-up truck by the barn.

We were just pulling out of the driveway by the tractor barn, heading to the “back” to tour the pastures and see the cows and bulls–something that had already produced much anticipation, squealing, and a flurry to put on coats.  Dad was driving with my aunt in the front seat.  Hub had the driver’s side back seat with Squiggle, pup-pup and bear-bear in his lap.  I was in the middle getting some “sugar” (as we say in the South) from Little Drummer Boy.  Mama was on the other side with Baby Girl wrapped up like a little snow bunny.  The boys had already examined the remains of the bonfire that produced much jumping, laughing and hot dogs the night before.  The sky was crisp and partly sunny in a blue that only Autumn can bring.  I think it was my mom who said it first:

“This is what we dreamed of.”

Then, as if everyone had been secretly sipping on the same cup of sweetened bubbly joy, we all added our own realizations.

“Umm Hmm.”
“This is why we did it.”
“Our three gifts.”
“My sweet boys and Baby Girl.”
“Yes.” with an extra hug and squeeze
“Our dreams come true.”

I’m thankful for realized dreams, the fruits of our hearts’ labor with God and each other.
“For he will not often consider the years of his life, because God keeps him occupied with the gladness of his heart.” (ecclesiastes 5:20)

W is for Whole

A whole defies mathematics.  It adds up to so much greater than two halves, especially in hearts.  Just the added “w” makes it the opposite of hole.  Where a whole is given, there can be none of the empty void of hole.  A whole is full and complete–the thing in its entirety.  A whole lends importance to anything it touches.  I should do, see, love with my whole, or not at all.

Reading Ramble

I haven’t read anything in three years.  

Yeah, that “what I’m reading now” claim in my Amazon widget is a half-truth.  Actually, it’s more like a third- or fourth-truth.  I’m sure Making the Blue Plate Special is a great book.  At least I’ve imagined so for the past three years.  I finally read the first chapter in the waiting room of my obstetrician back in May or June.  And, yes, I gave it the obligatory toss into my bag each of the 35 times I went back during my pregnancy– only I ditched it for the quickie magazine read every time.  I’m a fairly intelligent girl, well-educated, well-versed with the world and sufficiently socially-aware (even though I’ve never actually seen an entire episode of Grey’s Anatomy.)  And yet, I’m willing to admit it…  I haven’t read anything in three years.

That’s not entirely true.  I’ve read other chapters here and there, the occasional article, quite a few websites, not to mention the 6000 times I’ve read Make Way for Ducklings and Harry the Dirty Dog.  But, those don’t count–I guess because I wasn’t reading in the curl up with it, “I love to read,” lose yourself, “I’m really enjoying this” sense.  I suppose I was reading out of wanting to want to read.  But, I just couldn’t muster it up.  It started when I got pregnant with my first child, and Drummer Boy, Squiggle Man and Baby Girl later, I got out of the habit and decided it was ok.

And it was.

Over the last few weeks I’ve been thinking about reading again and actually getting excited about it–hence, this reading ramble.  I think nursing Baby Girl has been the catalyst for my renewed reading interest.  With the desire to stay awake during our 2 or 3 or 4am feedings, there are only so many election debate or NLCS replays I can stomach without losing my mind.  Reading seems like a worthy alternative.

I’ve run this cycle several times in my life.  Maybe I got burned out with my current reading interest.  Maybe the pursuit of school studies or bible studies choked out the desire for frivolous words.  Maybe I just found other more important ways to occupy my “free” moments, like my pleasantly time-consuming bundles of joy.  I guess I’ve never really bought into the “make time for Mommy” mantra.  But, then, my family path gave me 35 years to make time for me before my children came along.  Then, I was so totally enamored by them, that Mommy time just seemed like a waste of time.  Regardless, over the years, reading and I have had a fairweather relationship.

As a child, I was an avid reader.  Not a voracious reader, grabbing up anything and everything I could get my hands on.  But, an avid one.  There’s a subtle difference.  I had a few chosen reading mainstays that I devoted myself to over and over again:  Little Women, the Little House on the Prairie series, anything Beverly Cleary (i.e. Beezus and Ramona.)  I immersed myself in those books so often that I can clearly remember walking down the hallway in my 4th grade elementary school wondering where Laura and Mary Ingalls were.  I threw in a love of biographies and several other series that required more than a few reminders from my Mother to turn out the light.  Oddly, I’ve always had a penchant for reading the same books over and over again.

Since I started EyeJunkie I’ve been curious about online reading opportunities.  I’ve explored news sites, public opinion, entertainment, other blogs and those curiosities you find in a largely unedited medium.  (My tiny disclaimer:  Oh be careful little eyes what you see)  I’ve even landed on a few “favorite” blogs that I read regularly, if for no other reason than to keep up with the thoughts of friends I admire.  I have to admit, however, that I really don’t consider it reading.  There’s something about seeing the words backlit and framed by logos and enticements to find your old high school classmates that pulls the “reading for pleasure” right out of the equation.  I love the internet because you can find at least a surface level of information on just about anything, generally for free.  Since I’m an information junkie, that’s quite intriguing.  But, it just screams “I’m temporary.  Speed through this and move on.” Reading on the computer doesn’t offer the same pull to sit down and take time to enjoy that an old-fashioned book does.  (Did I just refer to books as “old-fashioned”?)

There is something special about actually holding the book and turning the pages.  It fulfills my need for some tactile interaction with what I’m reading that can’t be satisfied with a wireless mouse.  Wrangling with the book jacket, slitting the occasional uncut page, bending the paperback spine — these experiences let me know I’m reading a BOOK, not the result of bytes reconfigured at the end of a cable somewhere.  The click of the bookmark button in my browser doesn’t compare to fiddling with my own placeholder while scanning the page–be it the cross-stitched version I made as a child with turtles and a green/white dotted border, my  photo of the boys at Squiggle Man’s birthday party, Maggie’s appointment card for her 8-week check-up, or the receipt from the library letting me know my return date.  

Within the realm of real BOOKS, my favorite vehicle for reading pleasure is the public library!  It sends a little flutter in my heart just thinking about it.  I love libraries in that nerdy sort of horn-rimmed glasses way that shatters any possibility of coolness.  

I don’t know if it is the discipline of sharing, the thrill of leafing where others in my community have leafed, or simply the lack of funds, but I love library books.  The faint musty smell of volumes squeezed in between movable wire brackets.  The library stamp on page 43 (at least that’s where my library stamps it.)  The smudged page that makes you wonder uneasily, “what is that?”  The corner crease marking some other reader’s stopping point.  The faint pencil correction of a publisher’s rare spelling error.  The serendipity of the new book shelf.  The realization that mine aren’t the first hands to turn these pages.  I love it all.  

In the days of signing circulation cards, you could judge your reading choice by those who checked out a book before you.  You could even remind yourself of whether you had read a particular book before.  The advent of politically correct privacy issues caused a switch to anonymous library card numbers on circulation cards in our library.  Now, the computer system eliminates any evidence of the one who read it last.  But, still I wonder and share a comradery with the patrons who got to this one first.

I have a long, loving history with public libraries.  

I remember Summer Reading Programs at the Tombigbee Regional Library where you could set a reading goal for the summer and earn rewards by completing it.  I knew right where the Mary Poppins books were, under J T for P.L. Travers and the Pippi Longstocking books, under J L for Astrid Lindgren.  I could find all the available biographies about Abraham Lincoln or Martha Washington, and I enjoyed the fun of the program’s occasional puppet show.  Later, I was privileged to be among the first to see many of the new books purchased by that library.  I worked in the office during my high school senior year creating their card catalog cards–author, title and subject cards filed in the main card catalog and a shelf list card filed in the library’s administrative master catalog.  Those cards are a forgotten library moment in this age of online cataloging.

I remember choosing The Bell Jar from the West Point High School Library because it’s cover was the most brilliant purple and the name was interesting.  I had no idea the book was a semi-autobiographical account of Sylvia Plath’s troubled mental state, nor of the author’s controversial feminist stance and experiences with questionable psychotherapy techniques.

In college, I worked at the university library branch in the School of Architecture.  It inspired me to pursue that degree for several years until I determined my talents were better focused in two dimensions.  There, I read countless issues of Architectural Digest and gained an introduction to Le Corbusier, the Ecole des Beaux Arts, and Faye Jones.

My on-again, off-again relationship with the Starkville Public Library has mirrored the stages of my adult life, and my choice of reading obsessions has mirrored the stages of my mind.  I even worked there one summer and made giant animal footprints to go on the Children’s Room ceiling for their Summer Reading Program.  So, with a renewed desire for reading just because, we got reacquainted again last Friday.  

My choices:

3 movies for my boys — The Great Muppet Caper, Bob the Builder We Can Build It, Flo the Lyin’ Fly

The Cat Who Dropped a Bombshell by Lilian Jackson Braun — a new installment (new to me, at least) in a familiar mystery series

OutFoxed by Rita Mae Brown — I think I may have started this one before

Murder in the Museum by Simon Brett — haven’t read this author, but it looked interesting

When I brought my selections home, I got to tell Little Drummer Boy that Mommy had borrowed some new movies for Friday Movie Night.  After I explained the concept of borrowing and that although we would have to take them back to the library, we could borrow more, he was pumped up for Miss Piggie and the whole concept. 

“Will I be able to go to the library?”

Yep, I birthed that boy!

Gift Tag: Mommy’s Lap

My little Drummer Boy did not get a nap today.  It was day 7 in one of those weeks.  There has been a lot of excitement around our house.  Last Monday I went for my weekly doctor visit to check on Miss Baby M, and he decided it would be time to induce us at 38 weeks.  That means that when I go to the doctor tomorrow, we’ll find out what day THIS week our baby “seester” will make her arrival.

We’ve been scrambling around, getting all manner of pink baby items, and putting the semi-finishing touches on the nursery.  Mommy’s been working from home instead of going to the office, and getting more uncomfortable by the minute.  Daddy’s been taking over a few more parts of the daily routine than he had already taken over.  Little Drummer Boy and Baby Squiqqle Man have been slam dancing between spontaneous tears, random throwing of toys, mini tantrums and the sweetest blown kisses, slobbered kisses and hugs they’ve been holding in their pockets all day you’ve ever seen.  We know that confusion and insecurity are running rampant.  We know that even though Little Drummer Boy has an amazing vocabulary for which we can take no credit and Squiggle Man knows way more words than we give him credit for, they can rarely articulate what is really going on inside.  We’ve been watching, asking questions, guessing, soul-searching, and giving it a try for quite a few months now–go back to watching and repeat ad infinitum.  Change is hard, no matter how many years you have under your belt.

My Little Drummer Boy has had an extra dose of change lately.  Two weeks ago, he moved up to a new preschool class–new teachers, new schedules, still not wanting to put his tee tee in the potty, but everybody talking about it.  One week ago, he started his first “extra-curricular” activity–an AWANA “Cubbies” club where he’s meeting new friends, more new teachers, and learning Bible verses (doing a great job, I might add!)  Plus, he actually knows what it means to anticipate being a new big brother.  He’s already done it once.  

So, he didn’t get a nap today.  That means he was practically falling asleep at dinner, and I was putting him in bed early.  We read our books, found our blanket and puppy, turned on the music and listened to Mommy sing.  I thought he would fall asleep while I rubbed his back, but then it began: 

Drummer:  “Mommy…”

Me:  “Mmmm Hmmm?”

Drummer:  “I want to sit in your lap.”

Ok, I’m paying attention now.  Requesting to sit in my lap is uncommon these days now that he’s such a BIG 3-year-old– usually reserved for “bo bo” comfort or coersion (read bribery) from Mommy.  I knew this did not bode well for a speedy bedtime, but it was a treat I couldn’t pass up.

He climbed over in my lap, which Miss Baby M has shrunk considerably at this point.  Aside from some of my mandatory hugs, he didn’t cuddle or put his head on my shoulder.  He was content just to sit.  Then, he looked at me and smiled–a couple of times.

Me:  “Why are you smiling?”

Drummer:  “I’m happy.”

Me:  “Why are you happy?”

Drummer:  “I’m happy for you, Mommy.”

Me:  “Why are you happy for me?”

Drummer:  “I’m sitting in your lap.”

It was a crystal clear moment.  I saw deep into his heart, and was dumbfounded by how little it took to get there.  I knew he meant he was happy ABOUT being in my lap.  It was instantaneous security, peace, clarification, and love for him.  I told him how proud I was of him, how thankful we were on the day he was born, what a good big brother he was, and how much bigger Mommy’s lap would be in just a few more days.  And, just as quickly, the moment was gone. My Little Drummer Boy “wasn’t tired” anymore, and we would live to convince him otherwise in another hour or so.

“Teach us to number our days, that we may present to Thee a heart of wisdom.” (psalm 90:12)

Yes, it was a crystal clear moment.  One that underscored a realization that there is no better barometer of wise priorities than to center ourselves in this moment in this place to do what counts most–even if it’s just postponing bedtime for a little laptime.  Although, my Little Drummer Boy misused his preposition, I was actually happy FOR me.  It was instantaneous peace, clarification and love.  I saw deep into my own heart, and was dumbfounded again by the recognition that the best of my whole world can be found in the space of just a few rooms.

Gift Tags are the tiny messages God continues to include with our gifts — 2 little boys and the anticipation of 1 little girl, each with open eyes, open ears, open hearts, and much to teach. “Behold children are a gift of the Lord…” (psalm 127:1)

The Vendors

as I come from the train, they all appear
offering their wares to see and buy:
a cup of hurry, a bag of fear,
a handful of nothings, a schedule to apply.

I stand at their carts distracted and drawn
from my chosen route to the vendor’s stand
I spend all I have on what is shown
and go my way with my nothings in hand.

along the path there’s a merchant I meet.
a craftsman, he too has items to sell:
a coat made of love, jewels of peace,
shoes full of wisdom, treasures avail.

I stand at the treasures, empty, unkept.
I long to buy, but I’ve nothing to spend.
I stopped at the vendors, and all that is left
is a fist full of nothings piercing my hand.

Thinking About Thanksgiving

My children have a collection of Peanuts movies that sometimes rotate to the top of their favorite requests–requests that send us flying through the calendar celebrating various holidays at crazy times.  Last week we were celebrating Thanksgiving with repeated viewings of “A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving” and “The Mayflower Voyages.”  I like Peanuts.  Mr. Schulz was not above using the words “God” or “blockhead” in a children’s program when appropriate.  I like that.

“A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving” is the story of how Peppermint Patty invites herself and several friends over to Charlie Brown’s house for Thanksgiving dinner.  It’s a celebration of how fast Snoopy can make buttered toast, how “wishy-washy” Charlie Brown can be and how bulldozer-like Peppermint Patty can be.  In the immortal words of our wishy-washy friend in the striped shirt, “You can’t explain anything to Peppermint Patty because you never get to say anything.”  

In the end, Marcie reminds us that, “thanksgiving is more than eating… we should just be thankful for being together.  I think that’s what they mean by thanksgiving, Charlie Brown.”  How true.  

In looking back through some of my past journals, reviewing signposts on my inner journey that may have been forgotten, I’ve been reminded that a thankful attitude is one way to right our view of others and usher in intimacy–with one another and with God.  When difficult times, discouragement or my own wrong attitudes take a toll on my closeness with God, thanksgiving becomes the key to being together again.

“Enter His gates with thanksgiving, and His courts with praise.  Give thanks to Him; bless His name.  For the Lord is good; His lovingkindness is everlasting, and His faithfulness to all generations.” (psalm 100:4-5)

Thanksgiving helps us to enter God’s presence.  It is the gateway that leads to His courts.  It is the starting point in setting our attitude and vision of God straight when it may have gotten off track.  When we approach God with thanksgiving, we acknowledge Who is responsible for our blessings, our salvation, our life.  Thanking God for the things He has done for us and for Who He is to us silences a complaining and questioning spirit.  It makes communion with Him possible.

Thanksgiving helps to dispel doubts about God that may have crept in because it focuses our attention on how His true character has been manifested in our lives in tangible ways.  In recognizing His true character, we are able to enter His courts with praise.  By developing a heart of gratitude toward God, we give Him credit for His goodness in our lives.  If I choose to thank God, I choose to recognize His faithfulness.  I can see that He proves His own character by his goodness, lovingkindness and faithfulness in my life.

Thanksgiving opens the gate to praise, which leads me to the place where God resides.  Complaints are forsaken.  Doubts are put to rest.  Closeness is restored.  And, it’s not even November.

Day Job: Managing Your Advertising

Part of my day job is to manage advertising programs and campaigns for various clients.  Sometimes my clients toy with the idea of just relying on our company for the creative stuff and trying to manage the administration of their programs themselves.  My first piece of advice is always, “don’t do it!”  And, it’s not just because we lose revenue.  It’s because the management of an advertising program takes a lot more time that clients usually think.  Although it may seem like you’re saving something by not writing a check to your ad agency each month, sometimes you actually end up paying more by doing it yourself.  You pay for it in lost productivity, valuable time spent on the wrong things, or misplaced energy that could be spent growing your business.

BUT, if you get the advertising management task added to your to do list, here’s my article at eHow.com with some tips to make the job easier.  Click and comment!

How to Manage an Advertising Program