Emmanuel

Good morning, dear ones.

It's early on Christmas morning.  The house is quiet (and chilly!).  I'd like to make a toasty fire but it's a loud process.  I love my tree this year; some years are better than others and it's just a special kind of beautiful this time.  I'm usually the only partaker in the trimming; I guess it's not an activity for boys.  I guess this might be one reason mother's appreciate daughters - sharing the joys of holidays.  Men are not so sentimental and emotional.

I almost always struggle at Christmas.  I struggle with my idea of what it should look like versus what it does look like.  In my mind it should involve big families, tasty finger foods, funeral potatoes, cookies for days, fudge, strawberry pretzel salad, Christmas punch, maybe wassail, games for hours, hugs, gifts, and the general feeling of love and acceptance.

Christmas in my house doesn't look much like my description of perfection.  I've done a terrible job of raising my children - they aren't very interested in board games. They also don't like funeral potatoes too much.  Four people can't eat strawberry pretzel salad so I often opt out.  We don't have cookies for days, in fact, I think there might be just 13 sugar cookies left right now.  Christmas is four people, not sixteen,  we will have some gifts, and in 5 hours I'll be sitting in a movie theater watching Star Wars with 3 of my favorite people who are anxiously awaiting that unveiling. (More on what might have been a better option later.)

I have made huge strides, though, in "growing up." This entails minimizing expectation, stepping away from living in Christmas past, and embracing what is.

We often say "Christmas isn't about the gifts." But it absolutely is about the gifts.  If Christmas were not about the gifts we wouldn't be staying up until midnight on Christmas Eve wrapping and piling an explosion in our living rooms.  We wouldn't be worrying about that Prime order that didn't make it by December 25th.  We wouldn't stress over equal gifts per child divided by the cost and multiplied by the common denominator of Santa.

As devout Christians as we were, we rarely went to church on Christmas Eve when I was a child. It was all about family and fun for the Eve in my mind.  We always read the Christmas story and did Advent before opening our gifts on Christmas day, of course.  You know what I have loved since moving to NY? We always go to Christmas Eve service. I'm usually running straight from work to church and it is always worth it.  My church nails it every year.  They put so much love and effort into everything because they know how many non church attenders will attend simply because "it's the thing to do at Christmas."

Last night, for maybe the first time, I realized how precious it was to be with Jesus on Christmas Eve.  I wasn't thinking about gifts.  I wasn't thinking about the missing cookies, potatoes, and Scrabble.  I held a lighted candle in a dark church, knowing deep within my soul that Emmanuel was here.  Jesus was enjoying spending Christmas with me. The peace and joy I felt was priceless. You can't buy that, dear ones, no store carries peace.

I make Christmas so difficult.  I often focus on what is not rather than what is.  I focus on how it looks different or less or lonely-ish.

Emmanuel is here.  It doesn't matter what the celebration looks like.  It doesn't matter what explosion or non explosion in the living room looks like.  It doesn't matter that Scrabble will stay in the box.  It doesn't matter that there are no cookies.  It doesn't matter that because you live in a house full of males that you are going to see Star Wars instead of Little Women.  You can take one for the team.

Emmanuel: God with us forever.

We say "Jesus is all we need" but do we mean it?  I think we often don't mean it. We want things, perfect holidays, not to be lonely, wealth, health, and happiness. When we don't get them, we are disgruntled.  We say, "It's not about the gifts" as we continuously exemplify to our children and families by living room explosions that gifts ARE what matters.

Emmanuel.  It doesn't change.  God chose to be with us.  I'm finally starting to feel Christmas for what it is.

Treasured

I sometimes can't imagine a different life than the one I've had.  I think most people looking from the outside in would peg it as a bit peculiar because it certainly was unorthodox.  It doesn't look anything like the lives described to me by the people I've met.  It looks quiet, ordinary and unspectacular.  I'm not certain how it's possible I am nearing forty when I was reared without television, movies, jeans and jewelry.  Yet, here I am nearing forty, living with little concept of ET and a warehouse of stories, aches, memories, and griefs.

Already I see the many mistakes I've made in the rearview mirror; they multiply more than I care to admit, but I also see grace that shines through the days and minutes of a past I often want to forget. When it's painful or sad or when I think of the stupid things I have said or done, I close my eyes, shake my head, and try to think of something else.  I have a lot of these moments because I'm far less than perfect and I have a very good memory.

It is a treasured thing to be witness to a life that is waning.  I know I have often spoken of death and what it is to taste it in small doses; I have not experienced it much.  It is so impactful to watch the pieces moving, the roles that people play, and to feel the memories with all your senses.  It is both bitter and sweet and having a window into the process prepares me for the future.

It takes grace to be aged, it is for the strong, not the weak, of heart.  It looks lonely.  It looks frightening. It looks overwhelming. Understanding first hand what you wondered it would be like your whole life is, well, anti- climatic. It isn't at all what you had hoped and you more than likely wish you could turn the ticking clock back even just five years please.

I made fudge with my eighty three year old grandfather yesterday.  Fudge is his specialty and really is a far cry from special when my hand is involved in the process.  It turned out well, despite a few snafus, and when I looked at his face at the end, tears came to my eyes.  Remember this, Angela.  Remember this moment of victory in a life that ever draws near to an end. It's not over, but it's getting difficult, and once joyful tasks cause anxiety and stress.  This should be easy, but it is hard, and yet, he is happy to be doing this with you.  Remember the feel of his hand in yours; it is not the confident hand of a younger man but of an old and uncertain one, one that once held your entire body in his hand.

Stories have been told.  Memories have been shared. Twice he asked if I wrote a book yet and twice, with great emotion, he said I really needed to do it.   Tears have come.   I look at this man and he is crying because he loves me.  I am crying because I love him.  And I look back on my life.  I look back on my mistakes.  I look back on painful events. I look back on a little girl with blonde pigtails, blue eyes, and a book as a forever companion, and I know she is far from perfect today, but everything she now is, she owes to God and the legacy of family.  To be loved is no small thing.

Who needs ET?

A Highlight of My Life: Part 2

I have been waiting for the right time to share more of my travels with you. Something about writing, you have to be in the right frame of mind to do it right and well and I've been rather out of sorts the last few weeks.

My least favorite part of flying is landing.  Next to landing is taxiing. Upon arrival to Amsterdam, I was not feeling well.  Actually most of the flight I was not feeling well.  I'll assume it was the sweaty, stressful marathon in Washington.  We taxied for 20+-are-you-kidding-me minutes to the gate.  Even upon approach they mentioned how far away we would be from the airport and how long it would take for us to get there.  I needed to get off the plane.  I needed fresh air.

Customs was a breeze and I was hoping to find Ryan by the Burger King as he said he would be.  I didn't have much cell battery or international service so winging it, I was.  He was there.  With flowers. (and a Coke Light which is NOT a Diet Coke)  I am such a girl. And my husband knows it.  I carted those flowers from hotel to hotel and I even brought one purple bloom home with me.  It now resides in my Bible where all the precious items are kept.  

I stayed up all the first day watching TV in Dutch and occasionally finding a show in English; nope, not Castle, of course, but Truckers take Manhatten in case you were wondering. Fascinating.  Riveting stuff.  Truly.  I might have snoozed a minute or two.  Don't tell Ryan.  One thing I learned quite quickly from the first day in the first hotel, is that 1) there is little privacy in Europe and 2) the elevators are SO tiny.  I mean two suitcases, two book bags, one giant and one dwarf and that is ALL you will fit, but alas, no, three more friends want to join you and join you they will.  (smh….huh uh...I ain't doin it.  Can I decline you entering?  Is it rude to mash the "close door" button like it's my job?)   As for the privacy, two hotels where we stayed had glass bathrooms.  GLASS bathrooms. Everything is clear.  Literally.  Could I have like 3.6 minutes alone? Or is that too much to ask?  There is nowhere to hide, y'all, nowheres.  

We enjoyed such warm and wonderful hospitality by our former boss in the comfort of her home.  A simple and lovely meal was served; something I would like to try to emulate.  The Dutch have mastered the art of entertaining in simplicity.  Soup, bread, spirits, coffee and conversation.  The hours passed so quickly and I do mean hours....we might have overstayed our welcome, but the conversation flowed so easily and it was so peaceful.  I got props from her children when they heard I tried a frinkendel (it's like fried sausage) and fries with mayonnaise. That's right, fried dipped in mayonnaise. A Dutch treat.  I got to see the ASML home campus and we escaped The Netherlands without killing any bikers which is no small task.  They be zipping around like they own the planet.  So.many.bikers.  Doesn't anyone take a car anymore?!

Berlin was SO enjoyable. It truly was a highlight of my trip even though it was a big, smelly city.  History beckons around every corner and I was enthralled with all of it.  We toured an underground bunker which incidentally is just off the subway line.  You could hear the trains underneath you and it absolutely sounded like airplanes above you.  You could easily put yourself in the place of those here before.  It must have been so scary. Cool artifacts were in cases - Nazi uniform pins, helmets, artwork from the Nazi perspective, games.  Our tour guide was phenomenal - definitely go if you have the chance.  It must be said that I had the most amazing hamburger in Berlin!  Maybe the best one I have ever eaten.  I'm okay with eating "American" in Germany because Burgermeister was worth it.  Right here, right now, I'm going to drop a truth bomb.  The traffic is ridiculous.  Not like a little ridiculous, whew it was rough, but like what-in-the-heck-are-these-friends-doing ridiculous. I knew I was going to be in good hands when my husband got me through Berlin safely.  

We stayed the least amount of time in the Czech Republic.  And here is where we almost met Jesus face-to-face.  From the front desk of the hotel we received information on getting to the old town and we were able to purchase tickets for the public transit as well.  They called a driver to take us to the tram station which was about a ten minute drive.  He rounded the corner and abruptly stopped and dumped us off on the side of the road.  (I don't think he "had much English" and I have zero Czech.) We found the tram station and off we went on our journey.  Prague: Old Town is more than you hope or imagine it will be.  Architecture, culture, sounds, flavors...you know this is the place for dreams and writing.  The statues on St. Charles bridge whisper and beckon you toward shadow, toward quiet, the soft lights shine on the water and the street musicians transport your soul to another time.  When we left old town behind us we missed our tram stop.  No matter how hard you try, public transport in a different language is tricky.  We didn't have to wait long for the next tram and soon we found ourselves on the same familiar side of the road waiting for our young driving friend.  He did not, however, make the same return trip to the hotel; instead, he made a left turn when we expected he would take a right turn and we headed down a bumpy road.  As we passed by the "end of the line" bus stop, I thought we must be picking up other guests who had chosen to take the bus to old town.  Nope.  We headed straight off the road into the bushes.  The driver seemed to have little care for the vehicle as we hit every single hole known to man.  I looked through the windshield and I saw only trees whipping the glass.  I started giggling uncontrollably because I knew we were about to die in the Czech Republic.  No one really knew our itinerary, no one knew which hotel we were at.  No one would call to check up on us for a week.  Good gracious how did we even know this guy worked for the hotel?  How did we put our trust in complete strangers to care for us and get us to where we needed to be?  I twisted the ring on my finger and considered he might take that...   It might be worth some Czech crowns.  We headed up the mountain, rapidly, ruts and holes, zero suspension and then whipped around a corner....to our hotel.  We threw some tip money at him and bolted.  I giggled the whole way to our room.  And breathed a sigh of relief. 

I begin to consider anew what "winging it" looks like.  It looks like death on the outskirts of Prague with your best friend.   I know for the tenth time in four days that this adventure is completely random. It is intimidating.  And each moment is indelibly imprinted.