Lord, we come to worship the savior you sent us... And we marvel at the manner of the sending. In the midst of political upheaval, we hoped for a king. In the midst of wars and rumors of wars, we hoped for a general. In the midst of religious tumult and controversy, we hoped for a high priest.
I just finished a course of high dose radiation for a benign brain tumor on Wednesday. It was terrifying and the side effects are brutal. I went to my acupuncturist on Thursday, and she burst into the room holding up a tangerine like it was Simba in The Lion King. She told me that the fruit was a from a tree that originated in Japan, and that the tree and its owner survived Hiroshima. Then when they moved to the US, they brought seedlings with them. It fruits twice a year and *just so happened* to fruit this last week. She handed it to me saying, "If this tangerine can survive and thrive after radiation, so can you." Every bit of this experience was a sign of God for me.
There must be something in the air. I've been meditating about the shepherds all Advent, and realized that the watching-sheep equivalent in my life is doing dishes and laundry and walking the dog--the ordinary, common, necessary jobs we all have to do. And that is what the angels break into, right? Maybe not while I'm praying or meditating or journaling or doing some other kind of holy or self-help business, but while I'm just going about my tedious daily life. Maybe we try too hard. The gift was and maybe still is, unexpected.
In the midst of all the horrors that abound today, I got a message at 6 this morning (the 24th) that my daughter in law has been checked into the hospital in labor with our first grandbaby. They are in Houston and we are in Virginia- but we wait with great anticipation for our own tiny baby today. Such a happiness shining in the midst of so much sadness.
I'm on Day 2 of a 7 day visit to my hometown. I'm staying with my grandparents. My grandfather has dementia and it's definitely progressing quicker and quicker each time I visit and breaking my heart. There are several other very challenging family members also staying under the same roof. The area in general is not always kind or welcoming to visible queerness or tatted chicks. And today is the 1 year anniversary of a dear friend's suicide. Overwhelmed doesn't quite suffice for how I was feeling by the time I headed to bed last night.
And as I lay in my mother's childhood bedroom crying, a friend from HFASS - whom I only met because of a global pandemic forcing us all to conduct our entire lives online for over a year - texted me two simple words: "Checking in." That was it. That was the tiny crack of grace that was needed for the light to begin to re-enter, as it reminded me that THIS - this location and these circumstances I'm trying to navigate with as much grace, service to those around me, and whatever tiny amount of goodwill toward others I can scrape together - aren't my whole life or my ultimate reality. Those two words helped me move from paralyzing self-pity to revitalizing action. I set my alarm for 5:30 a.m. so I could drive the 42 minutes it takes to get to the nearest AA meeting out here this morning. I got some of that good recovery shit, drank a few cups of bad coffee, talked about God as I understand God with some strangers, and returned lighter and with a fuller cup to pour from.
So this Christmas my husband is in rehab. It's about time. He also spent his 68th bd there. Praying it leads to lasting sobriety. While there he is working the AA program and struggling with the concept of a Higher Power. He had no religious upbringing. Me, on the other hand, grew up in a Missouri Synod Lutheran household going back generations. After reading Rachel Held Evans I began deconstructing my own faith and ending up rejecting the way I was raised. I thank God for giving us Rachel. She changed my life. I found you, Nadia, through her. So back to my husband in rehab. While he's gone, I've started my own recovery with AlAnon and working on finding my own meaningful HP. So a friend was telling me about the series, The Chosen, on Netflix. Usually I instantly reject any Christian movies as gross propaganda ala Kirk Cameron. I became intrigued with how The Chosen is portraying Matthew the tax collector. We have a grown son on the autism spectrum so I immediately identified how they were portraying this excluded and mocked young man. I had never in all my years of Sunday School, confirmation, Bible studies ever heard of Matthew having any "issues" so this morning I pulled out my old dusty Archeological Bible I bought at Costco years ago. (This Bible appealed to me because it offered factual, historical information regarding the politics and culture of each book.) So, I open my Bible and I find an old, yellowed folded newspaper article. It's dated Dec 25, 2007 and titled Yes, Samantha, Christmas is Real by Kathryn Robinson. This article has been sitting between the pages of a Bible for 16 years and I pulled it out this morning as I sit with my coffee listening to the Winter Solstice 2023 playlist on Spotify, by the candlelight of the Forest Witch candle from the Malicious Women Co. My dad is probably rolling over in his grave. I'm choosing to take this as a 'sign' from a Higher Power. I copied it and am taking it to my husband when I go see him during visiting hours. I would've never found this article if he wasn't in rehab. I would've never watched The Chosen if he wasn't in rehab. I would've never done the self-reflection I've been doing since he went in on November 30. Wow. Having a husband in rehab over Christmas has turned into the greatest gift for my family I could've ever imagined. I seriously doubt I would've dug into spirituality this deeply if he was there during the middle of summer. I'd be out backpacking, attending outdoor concerts and soaking up as much sunshine as I can in our brief but beautiful PNW summers. So yes, God has spoken to me this Christmas season in the most meaningful way I've ever experienced. Thank you, Nadia, for your messages that talk to the likes of me and my husband. Cynical and searching. Peace and love to you and to all who take the time to read my rambles.
A very small thing, but on Thursday I was visiting a residential home for older people and had the most wonderful conversation with two women in their nineties who shared their memories of past Christmases. It was amazing to hear two remarkable women, one of whom had worked as a GP (family doctor) when it was unusual for women to take such a role, and yet they had no idea how amazing they are.
When I get discouraged, and feel so overwhelmed by life, the world, facing old age, I look UP. I look to the dark sky and see flickers of light. The vast sky and the stars remind me that I am a part of Gods world, and that as I walk through life, the spark of MY life means something.
I just finished listening to NPR and they had a segment on the hymn, "Amazing Grace"...and there was Barack Obama singing "Amazing Grace" at a funeral (9 killed in Charleston in 2015). As usual it brought tears to my eyes. As much as I don't feel Chismasy this year I am not improving the world situation or my own angst by foreclosing the possibility of grace. In each moment I choose love or fear. I am going to do my best to choose love. You do the same. [Thank you Nadia for this forum]
To paraphrase a nursery rhyme: when Christianity is good it is very good and when it's bad it's horrid.
I have been attending a vibrant ELCA Lutheran Church in downtown Pittsburgh. This morning a homeless man entered the church during communion. This is not uncommon. The usher embraced the man, asking him questions that I was unable to hear. Several people who are a part of a ministry to help our homeless, quietly left the sanctuary with the gentleman. It was in many ways, joyfully, a non event and yet is what our faith is supposed to be about.The story is too long to share the details but he was treated like the human being he is, and received immediate help. He will get as much support as he is willing to accept. Not just today but with follow up. All with NO judgment.
There are so many layers of good in this. It is true that much evil and violence happens in this world with religion as the motivation. I believe with all my heart that people who do this may have lost their way, no matter the faith they profess.
May we all put aside the need to control others and embrace the lessons of love which are fundamental in most all religions.
To my fellow Christians,Merry Christmas. I hope this story makes us more mindful of the real message of Christ.
“Whatever God delivers, it will be needed and it will be unexpected.” Those words of yours are for me a benediction, a blessing in the oldest sense of the word, a prophetic pronouncement that the Mystery beyond us is still at work as the Mystery within us to wake us to the Mystery within us. That was my unexpected glimpse of the glory of God relighting the candle of Christmas. Thank you, Nadia, and Merry Christmas to you.
When angels show up they immediately tell everybody present “do not be afraid.” That is an elemental issue we need assurance about in the midst of all the outrageous and sad events going on around us. But our minds have aback room in them in which a Risk Management Department spins out worst-case-scenarios 24/7. This manufactures our fears constantly, based on all the news we are getting. Hence in the 50s and 60s there were duck-and-cover drills in school and people dug bomb shelters in their back yards because of the nuclear threat. Today we have Ukraine, Gaza, school shootings, authoritarian political threats, you name it. We need to be reminded to put aside our fear in order to hear this message of peace, so that we can aspire to make it happen.
I saw an entire delivery room of God’s glory. My second grandchild, a sweet little girl was born three days before Christmas. The Celts I’m told believed birth to be the thinnest place possible, the babe having just come from God’s presence. I agree. ❤️
Life has been just a little dull and boring for me lately. I've been feeling a little under the weather so just trying to rest and take it easy. But yesterday, I got a text from a good friend currently stationed in Antarctica wishing me a merry Christmas. Just something a little special to break up the monotony.
It probably seems trivial, but I will share the joy I felt when I went for a long run here in Seattle yesterday and the sun was out! The pavement was actually dry in places. We're from southern New Mexico, where the desert sun shines over 300 days a year, visiting our adult children here in Seattle. So I felt not just joy but wonder!
My trans kid was asked to be the thurifer for our Christmas Eve service last night, and they aboslutely were beaming with joy through the whole service. We've had many Christmases over the years that were not bright and sparkly, and in a weary world this past year in which our country seems to be doubling down against our LGBTQ+ community, I so appreciated not only hearing the Christmas message that Jesus Christ was born for all of us, but seeing it in action. I could believe in 'joy to the world', our recessional hymn, if only for a few fleeting moments.
I just finished a course of high dose radiation for a benign brain tumor on Wednesday. It was terrifying and the side effects are brutal. I went to my acupuncturist on Thursday, and she burst into the room holding up a tangerine like it was Simba in The Lion King. She told me that the fruit was a from a tree that originated in Japan, and that the tree and its owner survived Hiroshima. Then when they moved to the US, they brought seedlings with them. It fruits twice a year and *just so happened* to fruit this last week. She handed it to me saying, "If this tangerine can survive and thrive after radiation, so can you." Every bit of this experience was a sign of God for me.
There must be something in the air. I've been meditating about the shepherds all Advent, and realized that the watching-sheep equivalent in my life is doing dishes and laundry and walking the dog--the ordinary, common, necessary jobs we all have to do. And that is what the angels break into, right? Maybe not while I'm praying or meditating or journaling or doing some other kind of holy or self-help business, but while I'm just going about my tedious daily life. Maybe we try too hard. The gift was and maybe still is, unexpected.
In the midst of all the horrors that abound today, I got a message at 6 this morning (the 24th) that my daughter in law has been checked into the hospital in labor with our first grandbaby. They are in Houston and we are in Virginia- but we wait with great anticipation for our own tiny baby today. Such a happiness shining in the midst of so much sadness.
I'm on Day 2 of a 7 day visit to my hometown. I'm staying with my grandparents. My grandfather has dementia and it's definitely progressing quicker and quicker each time I visit and breaking my heart. There are several other very challenging family members also staying under the same roof. The area in general is not always kind or welcoming to visible queerness or tatted chicks. And today is the 1 year anniversary of a dear friend's suicide. Overwhelmed doesn't quite suffice for how I was feeling by the time I headed to bed last night.
And as I lay in my mother's childhood bedroom crying, a friend from HFASS - whom I only met because of a global pandemic forcing us all to conduct our entire lives online for over a year - texted me two simple words: "Checking in." That was it. That was the tiny crack of grace that was needed for the light to begin to re-enter, as it reminded me that THIS - this location and these circumstances I'm trying to navigate with as much grace, service to those around me, and whatever tiny amount of goodwill toward others I can scrape together - aren't my whole life or my ultimate reality. Those two words helped me move from paralyzing self-pity to revitalizing action. I set my alarm for 5:30 a.m. so I could drive the 42 minutes it takes to get to the nearest AA meeting out here this morning. I got some of that good recovery shit, drank a few cups of bad coffee, talked about God as I understand God with some strangers, and returned lighter and with a fuller cup to pour from.
So this Christmas my husband is in rehab. It's about time. He also spent his 68th bd there. Praying it leads to lasting sobriety. While there he is working the AA program and struggling with the concept of a Higher Power. He had no religious upbringing. Me, on the other hand, grew up in a Missouri Synod Lutheran household going back generations. After reading Rachel Held Evans I began deconstructing my own faith and ending up rejecting the way I was raised. I thank God for giving us Rachel. She changed my life. I found you, Nadia, through her. So back to my husband in rehab. While he's gone, I've started my own recovery with AlAnon and working on finding my own meaningful HP. So a friend was telling me about the series, The Chosen, on Netflix. Usually I instantly reject any Christian movies as gross propaganda ala Kirk Cameron. I became intrigued with how The Chosen is portraying Matthew the tax collector. We have a grown son on the autism spectrum so I immediately identified how they were portraying this excluded and mocked young man. I had never in all my years of Sunday School, confirmation, Bible studies ever heard of Matthew having any "issues" so this morning I pulled out my old dusty Archeological Bible I bought at Costco years ago. (This Bible appealed to me because it offered factual, historical information regarding the politics and culture of each book.) So, I open my Bible and I find an old, yellowed folded newspaper article. It's dated Dec 25, 2007 and titled Yes, Samantha, Christmas is Real by Kathryn Robinson. This article has been sitting between the pages of a Bible for 16 years and I pulled it out this morning as I sit with my coffee listening to the Winter Solstice 2023 playlist on Spotify, by the candlelight of the Forest Witch candle from the Malicious Women Co. My dad is probably rolling over in his grave. I'm choosing to take this as a 'sign' from a Higher Power. I copied it and am taking it to my husband when I go see him during visiting hours. I would've never found this article if he wasn't in rehab. I would've never watched The Chosen if he wasn't in rehab. I would've never done the self-reflection I've been doing since he went in on November 30. Wow. Having a husband in rehab over Christmas has turned into the greatest gift for my family I could've ever imagined. I seriously doubt I would've dug into spirituality this deeply if he was there during the middle of summer. I'd be out backpacking, attending outdoor concerts and soaking up as much sunshine as I can in our brief but beautiful PNW summers. So yes, God has spoken to me this Christmas season in the most meaningful way I've ever experienced. Thank you, Nadia, for your messages that talk to the likes of me and my husband. Cynical and searching. Peace and love to you and to all who take the time to read my rambles.
A very small thing, but on Thursday I was visiting a residential home for older people and had the most wonderful conversation with two women in their nineties who shared their memories of past Christmases. It was amazing to hear two remarkable women, one of whom had worked as a GP (family doctor) when it was unusual for women to take such a role, and yet they had no idea how amazing they are.
When I get discouraged, and feel so overwhelmed by life, the world, facing old age, I look UP. I look to the dark sky and see flickers of light. The vast sky and the stars remind me that I am a part of Gods world, and that as I walk through life, the spark of MY life means something.
I just finished listening to NPR and they had a segment on the hymn, "Amazing Grace"...and there was Barack Obama singing "Amazing Grace" at a funeral (9 killed in Charleston in 2015). As usual it brought tears to my eyes. As much as I don't feel Chismasy this year I am not improving the world situation or my own angst by foreclosing the possibility of grace. In each moment I choose love or fear. I am going to do my best to choose love. You do the same. [Thank you Nadia for this forum]
This will be long.
To paraphrase a nursery rhyme: when Christianity is good it is very good and when it's bad it's horrid.
I have been attending a vibrant ELCA Lutheran Church in downtown Pittsburgh. This morning a homeless man entered the church during communion. This is not uncommon. The usher embraced the man, asking him questions that I was unable to hear. Several people who are a part of a ministry to help our homeless, quietly left the sanctuary with the gentleman. It was in many ways, joyfully, a non event and yet is what our faith is supposed to be about.The story is too long to share the details but he was treated like the human being he is, and received immediate help. He will get as much support as he is willing to accept. Not just today but with follow up. All with NO judgment.
There are so many layers of good in this. It is true that much evil and violence happens in this world with religion as the motivation. I believe with all my heart that people who do this may have lost their way, no matter the faith they profess.
May we all put aside the need to control others and embrace the lessons of love which are fundamental in most all religions.
To my fellow Christians,Merry Christmas. I hope this story makes us more mindful of the real message of Christ.
Peace be with you
“Whatever God delivers, it will be needed and it will be unexpected.” Those words of yours are for me a benediction, a blessing in the oldest sense of the word, a prophetic pronouncement that the Mystery beyond us is still at work as the Mystery within us to wake us to the Mystery within us. That was my unexpected glimpse of the glory of God relighting the candle of Christmas. Thank you, Nadia, and Merry Christmas to you.
The gift of hope your writings have brought to me , reaching all the way into my little corner of the universe, has been an endless gift. Thanks.
When angels show up they immediately tell everybody present “do not be afraid.” That is an elemental issue we need assurance about in the midst of all the outrageous and sad events going on around us. But our minds have aback room in them in which a Risk Management Department spins out worst-case-scenarios 24/7. This manufactures our fears constantly, based on all the news we are getting. Hence in the 50s and 60s there were duck-and-cover drills in school and people dug bomb shelters in their back yards because of the nuclear threat. Today we have Ukraine, Gaza, school shootings, authoritarian political threats, you name it. We need to be reminded to put aside our fear in order to hear this message of peace, so that we can aspire to make it happen.
I saw an entire delivery room of God’s glory. My second grandchild, a sweet little girl was born three days before Christmas. The Celts I’m told believed birth to be the thinnest place possible, the babe having just come from God’s presence. I agree. ❤️
Life has been just a little dull and boring for me lately. I've been feeling a little under the weather so just trying to rest and take it easy. But yesterday, I got a text from a good friend currently stationed in Antarctica wishing me a merry Christmas. Just something a little special to break up the monotony.
It probably seems trivial, but I will share the joy I felt when I went for a long run here in Seattle yesterday and the sun was out! The pavement was actually dry in places. We're from southern New Mexico, where the desert sun shines over 300 days a year, visiting our adult children here in Seattle. So I felt not just joy but wonder!
My trans kid was asked to be the thurifer for our Christmas Eve service last night, and they aboslutely were beaming with joy through the whole service. We've had many Christmases over the years that were not bright and sparkly, and in a weary world this past year in which our country seems to be doubling down against our LGBTQ+ community, I so appreciated not only hearing the Christmas message that Jesus Christ was born for all of us, but seeing it in action. I could believe in 'joy to the world', our recessional hymn, if only for a few fleeting moments.