forget the proverbial box, let's put Jesus in a red cup..

Starbucks put out a plain (read: ombre) red christmas cup this year and somebody got upset about it saying they were removing Christ from christmas because snowflakes represent the hope of Jesus. I've been thinking about this since I first saw it last night and boy is it really irritating me, which.. REALLY irritates me. Our culture is so (curses and swears) that we will get upset about the removal of snowflakes - because Jesus equates snowflakes - and then I googled "what can you do with $5 a day" And I got even more irritated. And since it is 2015 and I am a woman living in a gender neutral, supposedly egalitarian, post-christendom culture and have internet access I have the ability to speak my mind and so I will. If you don’t like it, don’t read it.

Dear Snowflake Jesus Christians,

Did you know that Jesus was not born on December 25th? Did you know that even if he was born on that day there likely wasn’t snow, or snowmen, or eggnog lattes, or trees in peoples houses, or lights on their eves, or gifts wrapped in paper, or excessive feasting, or wreaths. There were no pop singers butchering O Holy Night, no christmas letters, no ugly christmas sweaters, no candy canes, no flying reindeer, no fat man in a red suit breaking into peoples homes to leave things. 

It has long been acknowledged by scholars that Jesus was probably born in the spring, due to the Apostle Luke’s account of the shepherds tending their flocks in the fields. And it has long been documented that Jesus was probably born 2-4 years B.C. do you know B.C. means before Christ? So, even our historical chronology is off which is rightly why many historians choose to use B.C.E (before common era) as a pinpoint in history to avoid religious affiliation and confusion. (Also many of the months of our year are named after Roman gods and goddesses) I’m getting a little off track here, but not too far.

Back to Jesus’ actual birthday and christmas. 

Christmas is an attempt by the church to redeem a pagan holiday. Have you heard of Saturnalia?

Saturnalia was first introduced by the Romans as an attempt to rescue the sun god. It was believed that the sun was defeated in battle every year and required human sacrifices (of all kinds) to bring it back to life. And since it appeared to work every year they continued this “celebration” every year between December 17-25th. And, let us not dumb down or sunday school this pagan holiday. It was a week where “anything goes”. Every year local authorities in every community would chose a “lord of misrule” one person that would be forced into these horrific’s and at the end of the week would be sacrificed as the Romans believed this would defeat the forces of darkness.

Ancient Greek poet and historian Lucian had observed Saturnalia and documented these things: widespread drunkeness, going naked house to house while singing, rape and other sexual immorality and the consumption of human shaped biscuits. 

It’s no wonder the church wanted to redeem it… except they couldn’t get the pagans on board unless they allowed them to continue with their debauchery. Stephen Nissenbaum, professor history at the University of Massachussetts, Amherst, writes, “In return for ensuring massive observance of the anniversary of the Savior’s birth by assigning it to this resonant date, the Church for its part tacitly agreed to allow the holiday to be celebrated more or less the way it had always been.”  The earliest Christmas holidays were celebrated by drinking, sexual indulgence, singing naked in the streets (a precursor of modern caroling), etc.

sigh..

They had to find a way to make Saturnalia Christian so they told people that it was Christ’s birthday and closed out the festivities (if you could even call them that) with Jesus’ birthday. 

Happy Birthday Jesus.

Now, Jesus was never too good for a party but this is excessive. And while he ate with tax collectors and prostitutes and spoke to them about the love of God, he did not participate in their vocations. 

Now we know that Saturnalia is no longer observed in this fashion so it certainly wasn't the worst thing the church has ever done in Jesus name but it still causes divisions amongst christians and in fact in the 1600's Christmas was banned by many Puritans because they were aware of it’s pagan origin. But, over the years we have worked to redeem it and although, redemption is not our job, we have successfully turned some pagan symbols into meaningful expressions and pointed people to Christ. 

but as for the red cup..

How much do you spend on your red cup? If you are getting a grande latte you are in the $6 range. But, maybe you just like a regular brewed or even an americano so we are in the 2-3$ range so let’s average out to $5. How many days a week do you enjoy your red cup? I have been known to consume 5 in a week, some people have to have their red cup every day, others, once a week if that. So, I’m being generous to say three red cups a week? that’s about $15 a week, and red cups have started as of November 1. And they run all the way to the end of the year. So we have 9 weeks of red cups. Let’s do the math. 9x15=135. $135 on coffee. What else can you do with $135? I googled “what can you do with $5 a day” and I was woefully unprepared for the list of money grabbing ideas. I was hoping for some charitable contributions but no. Things like “what to buy for $5 a day, how to become a millionaire for $5 a day” Not exactly the “christmas Jesus is a snowflake hope” kind of thing I was looking for… 

or maybe it was.

Dear snowflake Jesus christians

if you want to see a symbol of hope in Jesus 

Be it yourself. 

don’t let a red cup, that clogs our land fills and contributes to the carbon footprint and destruction of our planet that God entrusted to us determine the Holiness of Christ.

please don’t.

Here are some suggestions for what to do with your $5 or $135

https://www.compassion.ca/

http://helponenow.org/

http://www.samaritanspurse.ca/operation-christmas-child.aspx

http://www.operationsmile.org/

https://www.habitatgv.ca/default.aspx

https://www.ugm.ca/

These are just a few off the top of my head. There are millions of charities out there that are doing amazing things for the least of these, you know the ones Jesus talked about, and they desperately need your help. And if you have an aversion to giving, then why do you associate yourself with the biggest giver of all? Maybe because you only like to get?

Well, the sun is shining here, thankfully I won’t have to sacrifice my children, and it’s supposed to snow later this week, that means that on Thursday and Friday only I’ll be able to have the hope of Jesus.

to me..

why do we run and go our own way
why don't we see he is our hope and stay?

we stumble down our paths thinking we see..  we are blind
what are we looking for..  there is nothing on earth to find

Jesus Messiah! He is here! There is hope!
you don't need to be falling, He is throwing a rope

"Let the children come unto me"
but it is the adults, it is me, who needs to taste and see

He died on the cross, He crushed the snake
this is more than a story, our lives are at stake

He is our solid rock, Mighty Fortress, Strong Tower
Thine be the kingdom and the glory and the power

on eagles wings, on clefts of rock,
in valley shadows and mountain tops

quiets us with still waters, trumpet marches and a torn veil
can we not put ourselves last? can we not live in the stable?

callous our knees Lord, bring us to you
You call the stars by name, you stitched us in the womb

I don't want to fear becoming more like you
I don't want to fear becoming more like you


I don't want to fear becoming more like you

because He loved me first..

      Once upon a time I was a good little girl. I know this because my mom has told me so, many times. I am the baby of the family and if you ask my sisters they will tell you I was treated as such. I have been agreeable and obedient for most of my life. If I rebel it’s passively - grade 9 saw me fail because I didn’t care - and so passively I rebelled by not trying.

     I grew up in private schools. You could say I lived in a bubble, except none of my extended family are Christians and… well… we have some heavy stuff in our family. So I was never shielded from the real world, but private school did make it feel like I was attending church six days a week, and that can provide an unrealistic view of how life, how faith, how God works.

     My home was baptist, my elementary school reform, and my high school pentecostal. I mean, can we get any more divergent and confusing? Of all the differences between them though, the one doctrine that seemed to connect them was obedience. But, it had a catch.

          Obedience in fear - don’t ask questions

          Obedience in respect - we are right… all the time

          Obedience in blessing - we want to get as much as we can

     As a child, this made sense. Cause and effect is one of the first principles a child learns. But, when that child asks questions and the answers are dismissals..

I used to be a baby..

  “How do we know God is real?”

         “Because he is”

  “How do we know we have the right theology?”

         “Because we do, and we have some of the best theologians”

  “I feel like I’m drowning, I’m failing and no one is helping me”

          “Fear not, for I am with you

           Fear not, for I am with you

           Fear not, for I am with you Says the Lord”

           “By the way, your jacket is against uniform codes”

                                                                                                                              

What about obedience for no other reason than, we love Him?

                                                                                                       

     I have heard so many testimonies from brothers and sisters that talked about getting their life turned around in obedience to God and he opened all the doors and some windows too. They made it sound like life with God was smooth sailing. Do what God tells you to do and he will shower you with his blessings.. all the time. Sounds like an easy life. Give to get. Got it! I grew up believing that to be true, allowing it to tint my doctrine and when I encountered someone who felt God operated differently, I tried to encourage them with Sunday school vignettes and hollow diatribes, although, I didn't believe them to be diatribes at the time. I have since come to experience that is not the case and to all I dismissed that way I am truly sorry. But at the time, I believed obedience to God was an exchange, a give to get. So I got my obedient on. I devoted, and prayed, and bible studied, and served, and sang loud, and bible studied some more, and started to sound pretentious, and haughty, and out of touch.

     He told me to marry this guy and he is a pastor (gulp, ok God). So I did, I married a pastor! Gold stars for me! Fist bumps, high fives! Drinks all around! Oh, except we’re baptists. Coffee and tea for everyone! Every thing was great. I had been obedient to God's call on my life and I was blissfully happy.

     

Then, I lost. I lost big.

     Two years married and we had a miscarriage. We named him Liam. Liam Bradley Reid. Our Strong Warrior. Not quite a full pound, just barely twenty weeks. He was perfectly formed and looked like his daddy. My womb could not bear the weight of him.

     I don’t share this frivolously because I still blame myself for losing him. My body failed him, the one thing my body is built to do as a woman and it failed. Shame has deep claws. I found myself asking God what I had done wrong, had I not been obedient enough?

     I learned not long after, that I have what is called an insufficient cervix. I am not complete, and since God stitched me together in my mother’s womb, He knew about this. I had used humour as part of my journey to recovery at the time and introverts are often self deprecating so I used to make the joke that God dropped a stitch when he made me because I need a stitch to carry a pregnancy to term.

ba dum tssh

                                                       *     *     *     *     *     *

     So I have tried to be most obedient my whole life and yet still here is this thing that causes great loss. It was always there, or not there, and my obedience can not fix it.

     Recently we moved a great distance, feeling God calling us here and we didn’t want to enter into a Jonah-esque experience so we were obedient and I expected everything to fall into place, nice and easy, all the doors opened. Because so many years of believing a thing are hard to erase with one traumatic event, and in my case I need to be hammered with it. Obeying God’s call and moving where we are now has been one of the hardest and humblest and most challenging-in-all-the-ways things I’ve ever done. Nothing has been easy about this move.

     I realize this can make me look like a glass-is-half-empty kind of person. And to be honest, sometimes I am, but usually I try to look at the positive. No doubt, God has blessed me innumerably. This is more of a heart matter isn’t it? So often our experience with our knowledge of how we think God works is just that, our experience. We sift our theology through our life lenses instead of through His life lens, seeing Him how HE really is. 

Therefore, my heart has been changed, and I have found that obedience to God’s call makes me feel more inadequate and more in need of His grace.

So where is the give to get? 

Is it any surprise I don’t believe that anymore?

Obedience is give… to give

Obedience because we love

Obedience because He died

Obedience because He saves

Obedience because grace

                  because peace

                  because joy

                                faith

                                trust

                                hope

      

         obedience in the now…. and the not yet.

socially invisible..

     “Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it: and Scrooge’s name was good upon ‘Change for anything he choose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a doornail.

     Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a doornail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the Country’s done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a doornail.” -Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

My phone.. MY PHONE!!!!

It’s dead. As in, dead as a doornail, as in Marley’s case - and haunts me with it’s black screen and random proclamation in Siri’s voice that it is “unable to connect, please try again in a moment”

Not unsettling at all..

It’s death is no surprise to me. It fell in a toilet last December 31st “A used toilet?” asked my niece with incredulity. Yes! A used pee toilet, ( a fine way to end the year) it was wiped down with a clorox disinfectant wipe and then spent 48 hours in a bag of uncooked rice. Most people would have just given up and got a new phone. I mean, pee and all. But we are not a family of disposable iPhone income, I needed to get it to work, our plan isn’t up for renewal until the spring of 2016. It turned back on and the screen dimmed day by day over the following month. Mostly it looked like a slow creep of wet taking over the inside of the screen. You know how when you spill something and you throw a paper towel over it and watch as the paper towel slowly absorbs the wet? Just like that. But my screen was still entirely usable. The phone itself was slowly coming apart. As if, something inside was trying to push it open. Then, on Saturday, the clock went wonky. And my phone seemed to think I was in Calgary. I reset the clock then, at bedtime I noticed it was off again. Then in the morning my phone said it was 1am when it was in fact 6am. I tried to turn on the phone and open apps and none of them would open and then… then… (sniff) it was gone. No sparks, no flames, no being shot down in a blaze of glory. It was as if it was just done.

 “I’m tired, you uploaded the new iOS and I just can’t cope anymore. Thanks for the year and a half, and all the times you dropped me. Maybe you’ll treat my replacement better” 

Thanks, thanks for that last one iPhone (sheesh, guilt)

So, I knew it was coming, what I wasn’t prepared for was the feelings I had when it happened. Isolation, guilt, sadness, anxiety (wait, what?) that’s like, addiction stuff. I’ve read articles about people and their phones and the panic when they don’t have it. Hah! wackos! That wouldn’t happen to me (insert sheepish emoji)

But seriously, I have phone numbers on my phone of important people in my life and I don’t have them memorized, who does? I had to send out an email to my best friend to get her number. My best friend!

I felt like someone had thrown me in solitary confinement. Yes yes, that is a bit overdramatic. But it really just compounded the fact that Terrace is a very isolated town. For the people that have grown up here it is exactly how they like it. For a newbie like me, well, it’s a little like being in the middle of the ocean and you know your family is out there but it is so much effort to get to them you just stay in one spot treading water. My phone and it’s texting capabilities was my lifeline. Honestly, I text my sisters and or my best friend every day. Every day. No, I’m not above a phone call. I’m not like some storied millennial that can’t be bothered to speak on a phone. But often my text conversations take place throughout the day because three little boys make the opposite impossible. 

So now, here I am, with no phone, feeling sheepish, guilty for my abuse of my phone, socially invisible. How did we live our lives before cell phones? How did I let it become such a huge part of my life? I thought I had set healthy boundaries. If I’m going to be honest (and really, what’s the point of an introspective blog if you’re just going to BS your way through it?) I was already feeling like it was too much in my life. I was trying to come up with a plan to put it away, use it less, ignore it. I hadn’t followed through with any of my plans. So now, My hand has been forced. It was getting in between me and my God. I have no excuses now. I suppose it’s no coincidence that I stumbled onto this song a few days ago.

Love you more 

by Nichole Nordeman

“You said go and sin no more though my eyes could not meet yours

I started running the third time the rooster crowed

You threw a party just for me though I squandered everything

I was blinded in the middle of the road

Climbed up in a tree to see you

Swallowed by the sea to flee you

Sold you for a little silver and a kiss

Killed a man to love his woman 

Burned a bridge back to your garden

Hung beside you while you took your final breath

You’ve been loving me since time began

You’re behind my every second chance

I love you

I’m trying to

Love you more

I’m ready

Please help me

Love you more

I keep thinking there’s a limit, I’m sure I must be getting near it

when I’ve used up every pardon and regret

And you’ve promised there is freedom,

gathered up the broken pieces

scattered them as far as east is from the west

And you've been loving me since time began

You’re behind my every second chance

I love you I’m trying to

Love you more

I’m ready

Please help me

Love you more

All the sands that fill the hourglass

every breath between my first and last

I love you

I’m trying to

love you more

please help me

I’m ready

please help me

love you more”

I guess I need the social invisibility so I can see God better..

last pic I took before it died..

little champion

Tomorrow you are seven years old, but tonight, as I write this, I am taken back to seven years ago this night. I was being lavished upon by people that love your daddy and me and they were loving on you too, even though they had not met you yet. It was overwhelming. Love has a way of doing that. But it was so much more than that. You don’t know this yet, we have never told you, that you have a big brother that paved the way for you to be. And when I discovered you existed I was all at once excited and terrified. Excited for your life but terrified at what lay before me. I was worried you would suffer the same path as your brother. Terrified my body would fail again, terrified at the pain that bore my path.

But the love that carried me, that carried you, that carried us from that point to your early arrival has bore witness in your life so far. It is as if you know... that you already knew that your life came at sacrifice. It is a deep knowing that you are not aware of, but you have always seemed an old soul with vibrant joy. Your exuberance for everything has always been infectious. Your laugh, your voice, your hugs, giggles, silliness put a smile to everyone you have touched. Even now, people at church tell me your hug makes their day. What a gift you are! 

You are so full of so many beautiful things. Your sense of humour is right up there with a seven year old boy, but your compassion is unmatchable. Anyone’s sorrow tears your heart, and other’s happiness rubs off on you. Your desire to help is beautiful. This can not be created, you were born with this propulsion. I can barely stop you which is why I often don’t, even though it drives your brothers crazy when they want to do it but you have to help them. God bless the world with you sweet Carlon. Hold on to your passion for helping. The world is full of need and you are a gift. 

You have an insatiable desire to play and be friends. And sadly, most children your age just don’t get it. To hear at the beginning of this school year that you had been sat next to a special needs student who couldn’t talk worried me because you can be easily distracted in your passions. Then to hear how you had been trying to communicate with him, that you spent time with him on the playground, pushing him on the swing…. my heart swelled and burst through my eyes. 

Your love for your family is tireless. Almost daily you ask how everyone is doing. Can we talk to aunties and uncles? Is this cousin still playing drums? How is that cousin doing in hockey? Is that cousin still dancing? How is baby cousin? How are grandmas, grandpas doing? Can we go visit? I miss them all, when can we see them again? I am sorry we had to move far away from all your extended family. We have talked about it so much over these last 18 months and your grasp of God’s call on our lives has humbled me. You have taught me about faith and trust and hope. You have been a gift beyond measure and I feel I could never be sufficient in thanking God for you. 

I fought hard for you, the fears I held at the beginning were not unfounded. Too early on my body was working against us and we spent some time together in the hospital. That was sobering. It was too early for you to come and everyone was doing everything they could to keep you safe and warm inside me. Mommy had to become lazy fast and you helped by staying calm. So when I got home this night 7 years ago from a pre celebration of your arrival and surveyed the abundance of love before me I was overwhelmed. I went to bed and didn’t sleep. But you apparently were as overwhelmed as me and needed to meet the people behind the love. You decided enough was enough and you were ready to get things started. 

And my life has never been the same since… and every day since then too… you change me everyday. God blasts his grace through you. You are Carlon Timothy and you are my little champion and I love you.

the theology of trees..

I’m no tree hugger, but I love trees.

Picking up Carlon form school is a relatively short walk, ten to fifteen minutes. Yesterday I had my two little monkeys with me and I was pushing the stroller as they walked/ran (I bring the stroller because they can never seem to make it both ways by foot). We were partly bundled, ear muffs for the boys, gloves for me and I was glad because the wind was picking up and the air was wet - it is October in northwestern BC after all. Down our street to the end and turn left to the short trail and then right through the “shortcut” says Iain, although it’s not, then left to cross the street to the school. When the weather cooperates it really is a lovely walk; quiet neighbourhood, trees abundant. And of course in October, the trees have their moment don’t they?

    “I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers” says Anne Shirley. And she wasn’t talking about pumpkin spice lattes.

October, thankfully, is so much more than that. She was speaking of the season itself, nature, what God had handmade.

October, for most of the Northern Hemisphere, is a magical month. The air turns crisp, this is where the wet air comes in, the cold brings an ice to the air that is palpable. Storms rush through; rain and wind cleaning the air. The trees change colour, the deciduous trees start to turn to glory and for the first time I’ve noticed that even the evergreen trees seem to get darker. But, oh my, the maples and birches and alders and fruit trees, and these are just the ones in my neighbourhood.

I walked past a particular maple on my way to the school. The leaves were yellow and the sun was streaking through and I was trying to drink it in and keep and eye on my boys. I was wishing I’d brought a camera but not everything can or should be captured. But, I took a breath and tried to take a mind picture. The breeze had kicked in and the leaves were flitting on the branches, slowly being worked loose, the tree, forced to shed it’s beauty. I took a breath and just loved it. As much as the maple has many varieties and colours though, my favourite is the birch. All year long.

In the winter, when they stand stark and naked with only their black stripes hoping to be noticed and at the same time trying not to be seen. Then in the spring I look to them again, waiting for their silvery green leaves to appear - the hopeful new beginnings, new mercies, new starts, new grace. In the middle of summer the wind blows and the leaves move and sparkle like glitter in a snow globe. I know when the sun shines warm on me I feel glittery, like nothing can get me down, even the air feels happy. And in the fall, oh boy. The pale golden yellow they turn, and a zephyr picks up and shimmers the leaves and it makes me think of jazz hands. (yes, that’s how I think) I feel it too, the winter is coming around the corner. It’s touching our skin and we are a snap away from feeling it in our bones. So we hold on to our joy in brace for the bleak.

Up here we collect trees to give us warmth in the winter. They are such a versatile part of creation. They house us, warm us, feed us, shade us and provide mediums for our creativity. They are here to serve us and we go through our lives not totally appreciating how alike we are. Or at least, should be like the trees.

God created us with as much variety and as much purpose.

House. Feed. Warm. Shade. Provide. Lay bare. Dazzle. Glory.

In His name, go forth and be like a tree.

if only...

Dear Lord,

Why can't I get this right? Why is it so hard to find myself in you? My whole, my acceptance, my grace. Why do I still, after all these years, feel like the little girl who thought she had friends only to watch those "friends" run away from her, make up their clubs, not include her, never let her in on the joke, because so often she was the joke. Why do I always feel like I'm watching from the outside. Nose pressed up against the window, watching the joy and revelry from beyond, dreaming about how wonderful it must be to be a part of that group. Why is it so hard to put down the measuring stick and pick up your cup?

I have been lovingly informed, on many occasion, that I am a late bloomer.

*sigh*

I say "lovingly" because being a late bloomer usually means slow and I think my mom was trying to soften the blow. And you can take slow on any level, physically, emotionally, spiritually. For me it means mentally.

No it doesn't mean I'm stupid, although, I have berated myself with that word on more than one occasion. It means being slow to figure things out, being late to the party, as it were. That has been me... for as long as I can remember. I have been late to the party. And the delayed impact on my life is really starting to show it's weight. I only now, at the age of 39, believe that I can write. I have learned things about myself over the last ten years that support this and so I am writing. And I am following other writers and this is where all the things converge.

I see these other bloggers and writers and how they have this network and they all started at the same time and all have their own success and they're all best friends and they all knew early on that they could write and they are all so cool (lame, I know) and I am watching from the outside again... nose pressed against the window. Feeling like I'm missing out.

If only I had figured my life out sooner.

If only I had learned in high school that I loved to write.

If only I had developed the confidence then

If only I had known about blogs, and all that stuff back in my twenties

If only, if only, if only...

If only I could just rest in what I have.

I was talking with Brad about this blog. I was feeling particularly inadequate that day and questioned whether I should bother.
"Am I even any good? What's the point?"
"You are very good at it. But yes. What is the point?"

He was asking me to figure out why I am writing.. or more importantly, why do I want people to know my blog?

I didn't want to answer. I still don't. But what's the point of even writing this post if I don't answer that question?

I feel alone here.

wow. That dropped like a tonne of bricks.

Would I feel this need to be on the inside if I was physically with my people?
Which I am not, being that we moved far enough away that you don't just drive here in a day. It was almost a whole year and a half before any of my family came to visit.

I am still trying to answer the question of whether or not I actually want people to know my blog, or if I just want to have my writing affirmed by these people I respect and then be on the inside.
These people don't even know who I am. I am just another name on their email subscription list. So it's not like they are leaving me out. And yet, I still feel like, because I was once again late to the party, the doors are closed and locked and I'm left to just watch on the sidelines.

See how all the things converge?

So God, why can't I get this right? Why is it so hard to find myself in you? Why can't I just put down the measuring stick, step away from the window and just drink from your cup?