Joy, The Grinch Too

This morning I feel like I'm playing the lead in my favorite December cartoon, How The Grinch Stole Christmas. As my husband innocently sleeps, I am sneaking around the house, in and out of the bedroom, silently collecting things to pack. When he wakes up, there won't be any framed pictures of our family and all of our Christmas dishes will be packed away into a little corner of the house.

The problem is, I'm running out of packing paper and I can't get my cat to fasten on reindeer antlers so he can take the sleigh and pick up some more.

I can hear it now:

La-doo-do-rey, la-doo-do-rey, welcome Christmas, la-doo-do-rey...

Out of My Heart, Onto My Car

One Fish, Two Fish, Three Fish, FOUR?!?

Jesus Fish showed up on cars a long time ago. I remember being in junior high and perusing that section of the Bible Bookstore, counting the days until I would have a car and could display cool bumper stickers and the like.

I've had my own car for five and a half years now, and I've never owned a Jesus Fish. At first glance, you may attribute this to the fact that my car is pink and I get enough strange glances for that, let alone questions about my religious affiliation. If only I had a dollar for every time someone has asked me if I'm a Mary Kay rep...but that's another story.

I don't have anything against Jesus Fish. That's something I respect as being between you, God and your car.

But I can't help pointing out how absurd the whole thing has gotten. Have you seen the mini vans with six fish, two being large and four being small? Be still my beating heart! This family has not one Christian, but SIX - mommy, daddy, and their four beautiful children!

But who is praying for little Johnny, child number five, who doesn't have a fish representing him on the family vehicle? I can almost hear it: "Now Johnny, if you pray and ask Jesus into your heart, you can have a fish on the back of the car, too."

It's almost as if Jesus Fish have replaced Believer Baptism - it's a rite of passage. At least they both have to do with water...

I'm guess what I'm saying is that we seem to be more interested in showing people who we are with objects, instead of through that which seeps from our hearts. And it's not just a symbol on cars - it's the way symbols have found their way into our churches, too. I've witnessed countless infant baptisms in the past year that are just as void of depth. Many parents sign up to sprinkle their kids because it's the thing to do. They have absolutely no idea what they're doing or what it means.

How far we've come. People used to be killed for their faith. Now it's a status symbol. Faith used to be deep. Now it's a half-inch thick with double-sided tape on the back.

It's time to get the Fish off of our cars and back into our hearts.

Incredible Meaning

We went and saw The Incredibles on Thanksgiving day. I was a little reluctant, to be honest. I'm a sucker for romantic comedies and dramas that walk the line of scary, but not so much that you can't go to sleep at night. I like cartoons pretty well...they're good rentals.

But I liked the whole idea of The Incredibles. I just plain like superhero stories. I like that they're ordinary people that have these amazing abilities. When I watch something like Spiderman, I think Peter must sometimes walk down the street, dying to tell people who he is and how cool he can be. It's fun to show off at something you're good at, isn't it? To be seen in all your glory?

I think God likes to see us like that, too - displaying the gifts that He's given to us to share.

After they stopped using their super powers, the Incredible family had a pretty good life. He had a job that supported the family. She stayed home and raised kids that she loved. It was average...but it wasn't super. Simply because they weren't being everything that they were created to be. Their son couldn't be fast, yet he was made to be fast. Their daughter couldn't protect, even though she was created to protect. They were each designed to fulfill a certain purpose, but there was this unexplainable emptiness because the void wasn't being filled - the purpose wasn't being met.

As I sat there, I wondered where I was - using my gifts or putting in time. A year ago, I would have told you that I was just doing time because I wasn't getting to do radio or work in some big important ministry. But I remember what one of our good friends once told us: We're each given a toolbox to work with, but it's impossible to use all of the tools at once. When God gives you a project, you just pull out what He's given you to complete the task. I've liked the tools this past year. Sure, I've missed some of the ones that have been tucked away, too.

Anyway, our "incredible" little family is about to get reassigned and I'm anxious to see what we'll need to pull from our toolboxes.

And when duty calls, I hope the outfits are really cool...

Trip to the Subconscious

I'm getting my drink ready at McDonald's, waiting for my order to come up. As I'm doing this, I'm wondering why I placed such a strange order. I never get the big breakfast meal at McDonald's, especially in a case like this when I'm running late. How will I eat the pancakes in the car? It's not like I'm driving far, either.

Order comes up. I open the box to view my first big breakfast meal, and see that instead, it's a sausage and egg mcmuffin (my usual) with fries, mayo and something else I can't quite figure out what is. I would wonder why they're serving fries before 10:30am and when mayo became standard for the mcmuffin, but I'm too concerned because there's no egg on my egg mcmuffin. The most frustrating part is, the lady behind the counter insists that there's an egg in my box. WHERE?!?!? Does she not know that I'm running late?!?

Finally, I find the egg - it's resting below the entire sandwich and it's about the size of two quarters. Oh well. I'm in too much of a hurry to even think of being demanding. I'm about to leave, when another lady comes up and hands me something else. They keep filling my order that I thought was complete. There are four drinks, my meal and something else. Great! Now I'm going to need a drink holder! How am I going to carry all of this?

David is going to kill me. I've been late before, but I'm really late today, and it's an important day. I'm going to be lucky if I make even the last five minutes of rehearsal. The merge onto Bullsboro has suddenly become this complicated clover-leaf, but somehow I get on and head towards downtown.

As I'm driving, there's the realization that some woman has launched herself off towards the sun and Superman will most likely make it to save her, but he'll have to hurry and even then, he'll make it just in time.

7:27am: I wake up and look at the clock beside my bed. Weird dream.

If Mike still worked there, I would have exactly 33 minutes to get ready and be down at the church for rehearsal. Today is the big Vivaldi Gloria during both morning worship services. I was supposed to have a duet. Tonight is the first of two presentations of "O Holy Night." I was supposed to sing with the Inspirations and then the big finale.

8:08am: Choir members at a Methodist church downtown are gathering music, telling each other good morning and are warming up. I'm in my pajamas, typing at a computer.

I haven't gone back to bed, mostly because I have this cold that is keeping me awake. But I also can't stop thinking about what I should have been doing right now. Music was one of the best parts of church there. I never would have dreamed that, after college, I would be in a choir that got to sing Rutter and pieces in Latin. I didn't even have an outlet for music when we lived in Colorado. It was good to sing again here, and play the piano in the sunday school rooms, just for fun.

Anyway, funny that I should wake up dreaming all of that this morning. I hadn't even thought about choir before going to sleep last night. The last I remember thinking about it was yesterday morning when I knew they were having rehearsal for today. It's amazing how something that's in the back of your mind can come forward in a dream...

Oh, you're probably wondering about the Superman part. I think that's just the result of a few too many superhero movies while I pack and wrap presents...

Holiday Trend

A couple years ago, I was talking to my mom about Christmas cards. You see, each year, there's this big dilemma. I have made a commitment since I started sending my own Christmas cards that I would not buy ones that use the word joy. It simply doesn't sound right to wish people yourself at Christmas time. Or, "may this season be filled with me." This year I caved. Actually, I caved about two years ago when I bought the cards that I'm sending this year. Perhaps I have a better self-image now...I think I'm something everyone should have... You see? This is why I never do this. It sounds terribly conceited.

Back to my mom...she was saying something about not buying cards that say Happy Holidays because that drives my dad crazy. At the time, I thought this was way over the top - she was asking me to avoid cards that contain joy and holiday? Do they make blank Christmas cards?!?

Now, I have to say that I'm starting to see my dad's point. It's not that Happy Holidays is bad. It's the thought that it's replacing Merry Christmas. Have you noticed this lately? Check out commercials, radio, invitations and cards this year:

It's the holiday sale.
You're invited to a holiday party.
Need great holiday recipes?
Are you finished with your holiday shopping?
What's your decorating theme this holiday?
Kohls: Fits your Life. Budget. Holiday.

Somewhere, Christmas dropped off the list of politically correct. Holiday is the new inclusive word of the 21st Century. If you're celebrating Hannukah, Kwanza or Festivus this year, heaven forbid we should leave you out. Have we so lost sight of absolute truth that we can no longer bring ourselves to say that Christmas is Christmas?!?

Don't get me wrong. I like the word holiday as much as the next person. If I'm not going to see someone again between December 15th and January 5th, I'm the first in line to wish them a Happy Holiday. It's fun to say and it's understood that I'm grouping together greetings for Christmas and New Year's. The problem is, our language is starting to reflect what we as a culture view Christmas to be - a vacation from school, a couple of days off work and a chance to get together with family to eat and open lots of presents.

In fact, according to Webster's Dictionary, holiday is "a day on which one is exempt from work; specifically: a day marked by a general suspension of work in commemoration of an event."

I think people rush to that second definition of holiday. Do you know what number one is? "A Holy Day."

I'll leave you with a wish: may this season be filled with a sense of holiness as you reflect on Christ's birth.
Merry Christmas!

Gorillaphobe

I've had a phobia of gorillas for a good part of my life. For me, there are two kinds of gorillas in this world - the ones you find in the zoo and the ones you find walking around on the street. I don't know about you, but I find the street gorillas to be much more threatening than the ones behind 30 feet of glass.

My fear is, of course, the direct result of a traumatic experience I had as a child. I was probably six or seven, along for the ride, minding my own business. The youth group at our church was having a Halloween party in my grandma's barn and part of the fun included a 15-mile hay ride to her house. My brother and sister were in high school at the time, so they were riding in the wagon ahead while my mom, dad and I followed in the car.

To get to my grandma's house, you actually had to go over the river and through the woods. Well, as I remember, we were near the river and thick into the woods when this giant gorilla jumped out of the bushes and attacked our group. My parents did what any responsible adults would in such a circumstance - they left their young child alone in the backseat of the car. It didn't take long for the monster to spot it's young, vulnerable prey. (Cue danger music - child to provide blood-curdling scream) Before I knew it, the gorilla was in the front seat, leaning over to eat me.

I must have passed out, because the next thing I remember is being at my grandma's house. The gorilla must have hitched a ride because he was there too. This time, he was trying to get to me in the actual house. Thankfully, my grandma locked the door and I have obviously survived to this day.

Someone said something about it just being our neighbor, Jim, dressed up in a costume. I tell you what, Jim has never seemed the same to me since. To this day, I picture him as a gorilla dressed up as my neighbor.

There was a short time recently when I co-existed with a gorilla. The radio station I worked at in Colorado had a mascot that went to many of our live broadcasts. His name was Nanners. Most kids liked him. I sympathized with the ones that would scream their heads off at the sight of him. At least he was a friendly-looking gorilla. I guess that's why I was able to warm up to him. It was helpful therapy.

And then there's today when I met my husband for lunch. It was all innocent enough. The sun was shining, the food was good, company even better...all of sudden, he was there. A gorilla walked by the window, across the parking lot, to a place beside the street only a few feet from my car. He was mean-looking, bicuspids and all (dental-friendly term for FANGS!). This particular gorilla was advertising some new restaurant next door that I will never visit. I kept staring at him the rest of lunch, noting his every move and dreading that at some unavoidable moment, lunch would end and I would have to walk to my car. Vulnerable Prey, out in the open.

Then, just as quickly as he had come, he went back inside the restaurant.

(Sigh of Relief)

God has granted me another day on this great earth.

K.I.T.

Not too long before I got married, my brother and I went to see Bowfinger, starring Steve Martin and Eddie Murphy. There really wasn't much else to see at the time, so we kind of happened upon it accidentally. It turned out to be a blast where we both took turns laughing out loud.

Eddie Murphy's character, Kit Ramsey, is a huge movie star who thinks that aliens are out to get him. When he goes to "Mindhead," his therapist tells him he must K.I.T., and asks the actor to relay back to him what that means.

"K.I.T. Keep It Together. Keep It Together, Keep It Together, Keep It Together, Keep It Together..."

It's one of those times when I could flail around for six weeks straight, wearing myself out from the strain. And it would all be for nothing because it's not like flailing gets you anywhere. Instead, I could recognize this as one of those instances where you tread water, listen, enjoy the extra time and watch God do His stuff.

I know me. I'll still flail. I'll still freak out when a ship plows by without noticing, instead of stopping to rescue me. I'll think the nights are too long and the days are too empty. And then, before I know it, some incredible yacht will pull up and take me to the next adventure (in some stories, the yacht is a cattle trailer).

"...but when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind..."
James 1:6

Keep It Together.

Death Without A Body

You'll have to pardon me because a great deal of my time is currently spent around dentistry. They say that the worst day after an extraction is about the third. You may wake up feeling great the day after...it's almost as if the source of the pain is so deep that it takes time to surface.

Today is day five. I cried on days one and two, was okay on three and the early part of four. Five is not so good. It's my first day back at work. I had to tell my boss the news that I wouldn't be around very much longer. I'm not dying, but it feels as if there's been a death. In many ways, working through this feels like the grieving process.

At first, there was shock. That was immediate.

Then there was relief. Almost as if the person had been suffering and we knew that now they were in a better place. It has been a long year here, especially the last four months. There have been points when we actually wondered together how much longer we could last. We had decided to press onward, with what seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel in only six months. But then it was as if God said, "it's okay. You don't have to do it anymore. This has been taken from you." A burden had been lifted and there was hope for something new and beautiful.

I guess the next was denial. It just didn't seem real or possible. Or maybe it had happened, but it would be undone. Certainly something would be worked out so we could stay.

Then, in the midst of this cloud is the realization that you are tired - tired of dealing with the grief and ready for the funeral to be over with so you can get on with your life. I think the human spirit is not capable of grieving for an eternity. We were made to go on and to heal, but that process isn't allowed until there's some closure. The problem with this particular death is that the funeral isn't scheduled until we are pulling out of town with a truck filled with everything we own. We just have to keep reliving it over and over as we anticipate the end. And we don't know what the end will be or when it will come.

There's a lot of fear. Getting groceries tonight almost gave me a panic attack. It was like dodging bullets as you turned every aisle, prepared to duck just in time. We consistently run into people at the store, especially the pastor and his family. That's almost comical fear. The source of my real fear is that we won't find a job in time, that we won't be able to pay our bills...that my parents will have to come and rescue us with Suz and Darrel's diesel truck and giant cattle trailer. I guess that's not the end of the world. God does have a sense of humor.

This one goes with the one before. I'm scared about doing this again. I told Mike yesterday that I wasn't sure I could pick up and go into another church right now. It's like we've just finished losing a battle and they've come onto the field and told us to pick ourselves up because there's another fight that we have go join right away - before we can even heal from the wounds we just sustained. This is not a good feeling because this is what Mike was made to do. Ministry is what we're going to be doing the rest of our lives. And I'm only 27. Suddenly that seems young.

Sorrow is ready to surface with the wrong look. When my mom and dad used to drop me off at college, it was really difficult the first couple years. I used to tell people not to be nice to me or else I'd cry. I've already warned people at work and they have promised to be mean in these next few days. :) But friends from church have been so kind to us. They've called and written and eaten and prayed with us the last five days. Friends at work have held me and cried with me. I was never a Methodist at heart. I was never a Southerner, always a Yankee. But we are having to leave friendships that have been deep and other relationships that were just starting to grow. Despite it being relatively new to us, this town has become familiar. The first year somewhere, you're sort of feeling your way around. After you've passed the 12 month mark, you sort of know what you're doing.

Today, on day five, there's a lot of anger. I can almost honestly say that I hate the senior pastor. I hate him for doing this to us. I hate him for ruining Christmas. I was so upset that I was having to pack Christmas decorations on December 5th, instead of January 5th. I'm mad that he can smile to someone's face and not care any deeper than a fake hello how someone is doing. I'm angry that people try to justify him and his sorry excuses for sermons. I hate that he is making me leave a job and people that I love.

And on that note, welcome to the family gathering. Yes, we've all come into town to support each other at this time. I know that this is real. I'm relieved that it's over. I know the reality won't change. I know God will handle every detail of what our lives will be over the next several months - I know that He will be there to provide on every level - that we will see miracles as He sustains us. I know that He has gathered all of these tears and placed them in a bottle - that He knows every hurt and hurts with me - that He is the only one who brings joy even in the midst of sorrow. And finally, I know that I can't stay angry - that I have to forgive, but that He wouldn't want me to forgive when it's not yet been seeded deeply in my heart.

Be my rock of refuge, to which I can always go.
For you have been my hope, O Sovereign Lord, my confidence since my youth.
Be not far from me, O God.
My mouth will tell of your righteousness, of your salvation all day long, though I know not it's measure.
~excerpts from Psalm 71

My comfort as I grieve this death without a body.

The Real Thing

When I worked in radio, my co-host used to always tell me that you've never really worked in radio until you've been fired. I wasn't sure if this was because he and all of the other people that were on-air at the time had been fired in the last five years from another station in town, or if it was true because a firing would show that you had somehow thought so much outside of the box that you were true to yourself and got canned because of it.

Thankfully, I can say that I have never really worked in radio, even though I was true to myself to the point that I would, from time to time, get complaints from listeners. My favorite complaint was that I was eating a snack of sliced apples and caramel that I bought together in a little bag. The listener said that I was wasting money and it would be cheaper to buy a bag of apples and a large tub of caramel and to divide it up myself. I explained that it was my belief that one should never be using a sharp utensil, such as a knife, at 3am in order to save a little money.

Ironic that we should be talking about this today, because it turns out that my husband has really worked in ministry. And in his case, I couldn't be more proud. I'm not proud because he has now "been there, done that." It's because he did stay true to himself and to God and he really did try his best. I think he made a tiny impact, too. I'm sure of it - and there will be listeners that will be disappointed he's not on the air anymore.

Because, as far as I'm concerned, he is the real thing.

Packing It Up

I quit Methodists Anonymous.

I know...you really should complete a program if you know there's a serious enough problem that you were prompted to sign up in the first place. But remember the whole, "I'm automatically in because my husband works there" line? Well, that turns out not to be true anymore.

So, we'll be packing back up the Christmas decorations, except maybe the trees, and we'll be gathering more boxes to pack up the rest of our stuff. It may seem rather sudden to you, but I've got no words to comfort you because it seems sudden to us, too. You either fit in in your club or you don't, and we obviously didn't fit in.

So here's to new beginnings. Sometimes you dream for new beginnings and, in reality, they're many days or years away from coming true. And sometimes, a new beginning falls in your lap when you least expect it. We just need to get over the initial shock of something falling on us.

I guess our new group would be the Identity Anonymous (which is a bit ironic, since you can't have an identity if you're anonymous...or can you) or Destination Anonymous would maybe be a better fit.

Anyway, so long Methodists Anonymous. Right now, I'm glad I kicked the habit.