God Enters the Mess. Merry Christmas!

He did it! He came! He’s here!

Jesus Christ, the light of the world, the King of kings, the Lord of lords, the Savior of all mankind, is born today – right into our mess.

“The word became flesh and made His dwelling among us.” –John 1:14

Jesus broke into Bethlehem at the height of a census in the middle of winter, in a dirty stable. He descended from a broken family, a poor foster father and was immediately exiled. He was homeless, cold, and hungry. He was laid in a manger…and in his soft Mother’s arms. He was loved.

Thank you, God.

We’re nuts! Human beings are nuts! And God came anyway. He created Jesus to link human and divine so we could go to heaven. He became human. He became one of us. “What if God was one of us…?” We are slobs. God’s not. But He choose to be among us even in the midst of our slob state.

Thank you God.

I recently visited a bachelor’s pad and was reminded of the messiness of my heart and the glory of Christmas in Bethlehem. Imagine…Condiments lined the living room mantle. Empty toilet paper rolls littered the bathroom floor. And a skateboard sat at one end of the long hall for easy access to the other side.

Who arrived? God. These men had nothing to hide. They leave their door unlocked and occasionally strangers stumble in from the restaurant next door. They don’t even mind.

I wouldn't want to live in this state of affairs, but I marveled that these people do. There is something glorious about raw living, where people simply live how they live and don’t put on a front. In spite of the mess, I was still welcomed and offered water in a styrofoam cup.

In reality, there’s no hiding the mess. God knows every single mess I’ve made in my life and He decides to love me anyway. He loves me through my messes. And I am grateful.

There I experienced the poverty of Bethlehem – and remembered the raw reality of a baby born in a messy stable, to two exhausted parents.

I spent time with some parents yesterday. At the end of the night, they alternate between cleaning downstairs and bathing the children. The one-year-old actually had two baths--she was washed in the sink mid-dinner so she could see since spaghetti sauce somehow blocked her vision...

By the end of the meal (the parents had decided it was warm enough to let her eat shirtless), she was completely covered in sauce, including her belly, hair, ears, etc. She got a proper bubbly washing with her 2-year-old sister in the tub later.

That same two-year-old had run through puddles on our way to the corner store, and remarked at the animals she saw on the way.

We passed one house where two large black dogs barked furiously and strained at their leashes. The owner warned my friend’s daughter that they wouldn’t harm her. Oblivious to his comment and totally unperturbed the little girl greeted the beasts cheerfully and called in all sincerity, “Hi kittens!”

At dinner time, she offered the compliment, “You’re a niiiiice cookin’ chef.”

Earlier that day, I delivered Christmas crafts to a student who missed the last day of school. His sister was pogo-sticking on the front porch. I walked inside to find his brother who held out the family cat. A few other siblings and friends made gingerbread houses at the long kitchen table while the mother showed me the dry wall where the kitchen was under construction. On my way out, another sister showed me their pet... chicken.

Tonight, I watched fire trucks circle my neighborhood as Santa and Mrs. Clause greeted the residents and firemen handed candy canes to children. I also watched my neighbor and his family curse and laugh as they carried out their yearly tradition: launching a glowing Christmas star high in the sky—carried by helium balloons and powered by a very long extension cord. The curses arose with the wind, which led the star between trees and made quite a hilarious scene.

Yes, God. You made human beings. We’re totally crazy. And you became one of us. You made us little and full of energy, innocent and humorous. You allowed us to experience pain, as we got older --and rejection, humiliation and fear. You allowed us to have coping mechanisms and addictions and you allow us to heal through the love of other human beings.

You recreate us in the midst of our woundedness and bring beauty out of brokenness.

My students brought beauty from brokenness when they created a Bethlehem scene from trash. Boxes and cartons serve as the inn and stable. And all the people, angels, animals and star are made from scraps of cardstock.

Jesus lays in a box filled with shredded yellow felt. Mary has stars around her (like Our Lady of Guadalupe)... and the little drummer boy looks pissed off.

Perhaps he’s mad that he’s poor and doesn’t have a gift. Maybe he’s angry that he didn’t make it into the Bible. I don’t think the child intentionally made the drummer boy look angry, but it’s good to reflect once again that Jesus was born into a broken world -- and I have no way of knowing all the details of the true Nativity story.

Another child adapted the Nativity story with her Popsicle stick play. In her rendition, Mary asked, “Joseph, would you knock on the inn and see if maybe we could stay in the stable?”

Mary leads me to Jesus, her Son, so perhaps in her gentle womanly way, she nudged Joseph to ask about lodging. Who knows? But I enjoy the reflection.

Humans. We all need support, inspiration and love. I saw a sign today that said, “God sees us as we can be but loves us as we are.” 

God knows the mess. He knows every single little thing about me -- because He made me. And that's why He gives me the greatest gift of all: the cure, His only Son, King Jesus.

St. Joseph is Stalking Me

A friend surprised me and called long distance to wish me a Merry Christmas today. We had a beautiful conversation… then ironically, she told me she’s working at St. Joseph’s hospital tonight, which is miraculous because St. Joseph is stalking me.

Here’s the St. Joseph run down since Friday:

A friend spontaneously took me to St. Joseph’s church on Friday. On Saturday, I randomly found a St. Joseph holy card in a book I got out for a friend. Yesterday, another friend and I went for lunch at an Irish pub…and there was a St. Joseph statue behind the counter…at a bar! (you can’t plan these things). 

Today, I went to a nursing home and there was a St. Joseph statue hidden behind the concrete main entrance sign. Then my friend called and said she’s working at St. Joseph’s hospital tonight.

I don’t know what the message is yet, but I’m trying to hear it, silent saint!

These little encounters are definitely like that reading about Isaiah asking for a sign …I never asked, but God’s sending St. Joseph everywhere. St. Joseph, what are you trying to tell me? I’m all ears.

Can I see Jesus like this? There are Nativity scenes everywhere ...constant reminders that Christmas is coming--tomorrow! Am I ready? Do I see Him in others, in myself? Jesus, be born again in my heart. So I can see you everywhere.

Poor King

The other day my friend texted me in desperate need of prayers. So I asked my students to pray for her. First we prayed the Hail Mary, then we marched and skipped around the room shouting praises to God.

The children came up with quite a list of names for God which they announced triumphantly as we moved. Some included: “You are the Divine Visition (Physician)!,” “You are the Vine of Love!,” “You are the only Son of God!,” “You are the only King!,” “You are the King of my Heart!,” “You are the Redeemer!,” “You are the Light of the World!,” “You are Great!”


My friend was moved by these children's sincere prayers, and I was impressed by their desire to praise God by announcing His names.

The one that stuck with me is, “King of my heart.” I need to work on allowing Jesus room to rule my heart, and recognize Him as a king who is kind, merciful, just and tender, Who leads me to newness of life and forgiveness.

Another friend and I talked about Jesus as king, but this friend did not share my immediate joy. He said that it’s antiquated to call Jesus “king” because no one has an experience of kings these days. He said people can’t relate to it and we need new language.

I disagreed with him about different language, but think perhaps we do need a reminder of what a king is. 

So, I looked up “king” online and found a few definitions. The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines “king” as “a male monarch of a major territorial unit; especially: one whose position is hereditary and who rules for life.”

Other definitions include: “a boy or man who is highly respected and very successful or popular,” and “one that holds a preeminent position; especially: a chief among competitors.”

For some reason, I don’t think “king” was a nickname Jesus had as small a carpenter’s son; and I don’t think my friend’s “new language” means we should call Jesus a corporate executive – it just doesn’t have quite the same ring as king.

Here’s how I understand the first definition as it relates to Jesus:

• ·         A male monarch: Jesus is the “sole and absolute ruler.” He is the only one who can fully govern my heart.

• ·         Of a major territorial unit: Jesus’ territory is heaven and earth—where the saints live and where I live.

• ·         Position is hereditary: Jesus got His position from and with His Father; “begotten not made, consubstantial with the Father.” Jesus’ Father is my Father too.

• ·         Who rules for life: Jesus rules FOR life – He gives His whole life for the salvation of my life and the life of all mankind. He rules so I can participate in his heritage.

“Your God is King!” proclaims Isiah.  And He’s coming very soon.

How does a king come? With an entourage, in glory. He enters the town gallantly on a horse, charging in after a victory. He is preceded by trumpeters, a herald, and a royal decree. He is greeted joyfully by the townspeople who run to him waving and singing and dancing. They shower the ground with flowers and genuinely welcome him home.

At Christmas, my King comes as a tiny baby, born “at midnight in the piercing cold,” (as the St. Andrew novena says). He is poor and shivering. His cry breaks through the silent night.

Were people surprised? Disappointed? Confused? Yes.

Jesus didn’t fit into the “normal” definition of king. He couldn’t possibly. He wasn’t made to fit in a box. His tiny existence blows “king” up into a much deeper, wider more glorious role that no one else can fill.

And he rules through poverty.

This surprises Small Camel in the book Small Camel Follows the Star by Rachel W. Brown. He asks, “Where is the palace, Mama?” when he approaches Jesus’ humble abode.

His mother, a seasoned traveler, replies with trust in her master (which symbolizes trust in God), “Balthasar will find it.”

When Small Camel sees Jesus in a shanty house, he kneels in homage and is immediately struck with wonder and awe. God broke through his preconceived judgement to show him the radical richness of a poor king.

I told my first graders that poor people bring me joy – just like Small Camel experienced when he finally saw King Jesus.

Yesterday, I experienced that joy in poverty when I met a homeless king on a run/walk with my friend. I was compelled to stop, ask the man his name and if he’d eaten. He hadn’t, so we brought back food.

The man was grateful. He told us about his interest in history books and his life as a travelling “marshal” who spent time in prison, camped in the woods and sees butterflies and lightening bugs as his companions. He laughed in amazement at the time when he woke up to a raccoon staring him in the face.

When our conversation ended, my friend and I walked on, but I had to run back, hug that man and bless his forehead. Why? Because in my poverty, I saw myself in that man. I have felt homeless, hungry and alone. People have hugged me and blessed me in my darkest moments and those simple acts gave me hope.

When I hugged that man, he smiled with glowing eyes. He told me he’s going to sit on the steps of a church for Christmas, and I told him I hope he goes inside.

The crib to the cross. That’s the life my King came to live. Jesus is born in the humblest way to govern all people, to love all people. He experienced intimately the poverty of all mankind so He could do the will of the Father. Because where there is poverty, there is room for God to live.

Jesus rules in poverty, through tiny miracles in everyday events.If I have the courage to trust God in the midst of weakness, anxiety and darkness, I can see the Kingdom of Heaven right here. With the people around me, in my own city, in the Bethlehem of my heart.

Oil Change Miracle

Oil changes are on sale at the local Sunoco right now--God provided that sweet unforeseen deal and gave me some extra treats.

For one, the station's prominently displayed Time Magazine had Pope Francis on the cover. He's the publication's Person of the Year. Holla!

The second treat happened at checkout when the computers and credit card machine were down. I usually don't carry much cash so I wondered if I'd have enough money. 

I looked inside my blinging wallet that I bought at a trendy hip hop store a few years ago and pulled out the right amount of money.

"God is so good to me," I reflexively exclaimed.

To my surprise and great delight, the mechanic who leaned on the counter lit up and praised God too. "Amen!" He cheered.

That unexpected praise made my day.

It also made me wonder how I let the Lord work in my life...is my heart open to these little joys or do I get in the way? 

One of my students inspired this "getting in the way" meditation. He used our classroom Word Wall to write "Jesus" but my body blocked his view.

"You're in the way of Jesus," he said. "Can you move please?"

Profound.

Jesus, how do I get out of the way? And where do You want me to go?

Thoughts of negativity need to move out. Anything that's not the me made in Your image, also needs to go. 

And I need to run to you and beg for forgiveness. 

Two other students had a tiff at recess. They decided to make up during journal  time. 

"Friends again?" One boy asked as he stood up during the quiet writing period. (The disagreement was clearly a distraction from the task at hand).

The other boy turned around (he instinctively knew the question was addressed to him) and stuck out his hand.

"Yes. The earth is back to normal."

"Really?"

"Really."

The earth is back to normal...I just love that. What is normal? Forgiveness. Miracles. Love. That's the reality I need to re-see.

Another one of my students just got glasses --two pairs to alternate daily in a stylish pattern (and I guess in case one breaks).

Her face shone when one of the boys said she looked beautiful in her new specs. She flipped her hair behind her ear to offset her pink-outlined lens a bit more which only accentuated the pure joy on her mouth, cheeks, and eyes.

Beauty. Praise. The recognition of human dignity. God, help me to forgive and surprise me again with your love. And change my prescription, so I can see normal again.

Do it again!

"Let your soul be a lifelong manger for Christ the Child. Pray that He may give you the heart of a child, and the awesome courage to live it out," wrote Catherine Doherty, founder of Madonna House.

A manger is a feeding trough. Emptied and refilled daily with food. It's also where my Savior was laid as a baby -- born in Bethlehem, the house of bread; He became food for the life of the world.

During a tough time last year, I asked a friend for advice. Perseverance was her answer, but she said it with the example of child's play.

"Do it again! Do it again!" says the boy to his mom when he wants to play Candy Land for the 17th time in a row and the rules are all his own.

"Again! Again!" says the girl to her dad when he's already read the book three times that bedtime and every previous night for the whole month.

My friend compared God's interest in the faithfulness of my prayers -- even in hard times --  to the child who demands the repetition of his favorite game or book. God begs me to depend on Him again. He asks me to trust Him that He will fill the manger of my heart daily with the sustenance of His Life.

He beckons: Do it again! Pray to me again! Come to me again! Let me love you again!

And He does. He fills me up when I take time to pray. When I have courage to trust. When I remember to persevere.

God, thank you for friends who lead me to You. Increase my courage to come to You again and again. Help me to depend on you like a child for everything and let me chew on the reality of Your love today.

Search for the Child

“Go and search carefully for the child,” Herod commanded the wise men as he sent them on a deceitful mission of destruction. The magi heard the words differently than Herod meant them in his heart – and it is the three kings’ delight and wonder that I want to emulate in my quest for Jesus.

“Go.” Move without hesitation. Try something new.

“Search.” Look. Seek out. Ask.

“Carefully.” With deliberation. Slowly. Contemplatively.

“The Child.” Jesus. A baby human who learned to walk, talk, explore, work and become a man.

How can I search carefully for the child? By tracking the child’s path… sticky finger prints, muddy foot prints, magnet piles, weird buckets of nature “soup.” By looking at the world in a radically different way. And noticing the treasures around me.

A college hiker friend said it was easy to surprise people in the woods because most adults look at the ground, or straight ahead. Thus my friend would often pounce from tree tops and land on unsuspecting travelers who forgot to look up. He called his mischievous adult-child play “ninja-ing”— sneaky sabotage.

I don’t think anyone was seriously injured in these surprise attacks, but they definitely served as a wake-up call.

If adults see the ground, children, children, what do you see? Well, first children put their hands and feet on the floor simultaneously and look up from a baby “plank” position. Then, they lose their balance and fall to the side, noticing the wall. Their heads roll back and they look at the ceiling. Everything is new and incredible.

Babies look at their hands, put them down and then wonder where they went. Toddlers hold out their blankie filled hands as they walk like wooden soldiers from the coffee table to their parents and everyone cheers. Six-year-olds dangle from their knees on swing set monkey bars and scream as bees fly near. Ten-year-olds can fly like Superman and prove it between back flips on trampolines.

A child’s world is sideways, mesmerizing, intimate and upside down.

Recently, I enjoyed a ping-pong game with a friend who reminded me of this childlike view. He crouched down at table level to hit the ball. Neither of us are ESPN table tennis stars to begin with, so we had a hilarious little non-volley as we hit balls eye-level with the table attempting to make a connection.

A little later, he invited me to climb out the kitchen window onto his row house roof for another perspective of the neighborhood. That night, we ran across a bridge and looked down at river reflecting the city lights.

All of these little encounters made me look at the world differently. And I am grateful.

At Mass today the reading from Isaiah was about asking for a sign. Isaiah refused to ask for a sign because he knew it wasn’t kosher in the past. The priest explained that God was doing something new. And we have to be on the lookout for something new.

Lord, you surround me with newness every day. Every moment you create is different from the one is replaces. Help me to search carefully for Your signs, to be attentive like a child, to look up, not out of fear of a ninja landing on my head, but for your subtle reminders of love all around me that are meant lead me to You, for my goodness, not the harm of sneaky sabotage.

The priest said Isaiah was wearing God out in his refusal to ask for a sign, yet despite the prophet’s stubbornness, God still granted him a sign.

God, I open myself to your signs today. Thank you for new vantage points, words heard differently and friends who adventure me back into life. Thank you for you constant creativity and the new ways You love me and remind me that I am your child.

Emmanuel

I am with you. I am for you. I am always present. I am here. A fire burning, a baby crying. I am who am. Emmanuel. I am God with you. And I love you, my precious child.

O come, I come.

Morning Commute

The Holy Spirit inspired a fun Advent game on my morning commute. I used the first three letters on licenses to think about Him. 

Here's some of my best work: 

JKA : Jesus knows all

HRS: He rescues sinners 

JBK: Jesus believes kids

JHG: Jesus hugs grandmas

GKT: God kicks temptation

St. Nick, Children and Poverty

Tis the season to celebrate St. Nicholas, patron of children and the poor. His feast was last Friday, but I am reminded of him again today when I have off from school. Thank you, God, for the snow!

Two of my favorite meditations related to children and the poor fill my heart with hope.

“Lord, give me the heart of a child and the awesome courage to live it out,” wrote Catherine Doherty, founder of the Catholic lay community Madonna House.

“I am poor and loved by God,” counseled a priest when I struggled to pray.

A child depends on his parents for everything. He also lives in the present moment and delights in it. I lost that radical trust as an adult, but God gives it to me anew when I repeat to myself that God loves me even in the midst of my poverty right now.

Children remind me of my poverty and help heal me in it – especially when in their silliness they demand love and attention, or discover how the world works. Here are some of my favorite student stories from last week:

It was time to go outside for recess; the process is lengthened now by winter coats. One of my students took longer than the others as she admired her green down jacket and struggled to close it.  The child interrupted my directions and skipped to the front of the line as she announced the one thing on her mind.

“Do you like my new jacket?” she shouted, eyes shining. “Can you help me button it so I can get puffy?”

At lunch time, I observed a kindergarten girl take berries from her lunch bag and mutter quietly to herself, “This is filthy. This is making my filthy.” 

Nonetheless, she continued a constant stream of berries to her mouth, completely rapt by the juice dripping everywhere – down her chin, white shirt, hands, table...

At Math time, a boy in my class ripped his paper as he erased it. “I was erasing my paper and I’m just so strong that it ripped,” he proclaimed.

I wondered: “What do you think you might want to do next time?” 

After a moment of contemplation, he replied with furrowed brow, “Hmmm…I don’t know…maybe I could erase with my left hand?”

There’s a line for an adult signature on the Math homework. It says, “Ask someone to correct your paper. Corrected by ______.” 

Sometimes cheeky children sign “Mom,” but today, I was amazed to find that “big Foot” signed his name to another of my students’ work.

Thank you, God, for these children and their openness to share exactly what’s on their minds. “Fold the wings of my intellect” and open my heart so I can become little again to be with You right here today.

Immaculate Conception

Today is the feast of the Immaculate Conception and Mary gave me all kinds of gifts.

My friend took my intentions on pilgrimage to the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in Washington D.C. He texted me a picture of a candle he lit at the same time that one of my prayers was answered.

Another friend prayed the Rosary with me at our work break.

At school, a mother visited with me as she played “Peek-a-Boo” with her child. “Where are you?” she cooed. “Peek-a-Boo! There you are!” The child giggled, stuck out her tongue and blew bubbles, drool and raspberries.

Another mother reflected that she could not imagine she would share life with a new little one this year. Now she is awed by the grace of God and the miracle of the baby she did not plan.

God breaks through. His plan is greatness. He gives gifts when I don't expect them and He runs to me on the feast of the woman who's stainless soul allowed God to touch fallen man. Mary's conception created an opening for the One who shatters sin and death. 

God asks me the same question the Peek-a-Boo mom asked her baby, and He asked Adam in the Garden of Eden. “Where are you?”

Ashamed and scared, I answer, “Hidden.” He replies, “Why would you do such a thing?” The Breath that created me is sucked in as It gasps in sadness, and I cry. Yet, in the midst of my brokenness, He has pity. His presence IS mercy, so He devises a plan... The Immaculate Conception.

Tonight I went to a revival at my Church. I listened to the deacon preach and he talked about Eucharistic adoration. I realized I was starving for Eucharistic adoration; “I wish we had that here,” I whispered to the woman next to me.

A minute later, Jesus was exposed on the altar. Then, the deacon processed Him through the aisles and He came to visit me. The priest invited us to follow Jesus right up to the altar. My Savior sprinted to me all because of one little whisper of my heart.

As I walked up the aisle, I had an image of myself as slave in line – chained for sale. I don’t share the lineage of African slavery as my black brothers and sisters do at Church, but I’ve been a slave to sin.

Last year, as I worked through slavery to some of my sins, a verse came to my mind, “I’m a dancin’ woman with chains on, but link by link you break a new dawn.”

Today was one of those broken links. At the end of the line, I walked onto the altar into a family. I was embraced by the Church whose strength is the Eucharist.

“In him we were also chosen… we who first hoped in Christ.” I was chosen to “exist for the praise of His glory” (Eph. 1)

How do I reclaim this freedom? Through Mary, my Queen. The Immaculate Conception. She is the gate of grace, the first monstrance to carry my Eucharistic Lord.

Eve committed Original Sin and gave it to me. Mary was conceived without any sin to hold Him who saves me.

On my way home, I listened to the song "He is With Us:" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z6mEQS2fsWE

“Hail, full of grace! The Lord is with you.” (Lk: 1) “Hail full of grace,” You bring Him to me.

Diamonds

A voice cries out in the desert: PREPARE THE WAY OF THE LORD!

John the Baptist pierced the culture with his prophecy, “He will baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire.” He foretold the entrance into the world of Christ — the King, who shatters darkness and transforms suffering into diamonds.

Recently I imagined that Christ was filling the hole of suffering and sin in my heart with diamonds. He allowed each suffering that I endured to transform into a sharp, sparkling gem. Then He laid His tiny body down on top of them.

The diamonds cut into His back and legs, arms and neck, but He did not complain. Instead, He smiled. And the whole cavern was filled with magnificent iridescent light shot in a thousand directions.

A voice cries out in the wilderness, sharp and clear like a diamond. A baby cries in the night, piercing the cold darkness. A gift is given, a promise is made, a friend listens, a snowflake falls from the sky. All are diamonds, points of light where God enters and lives are changed forever.

How are diamonds made? Over billions of years at high pressure and extreme heat. They are found near the Earth’s surface after subterranean volcanic eruptions.

Diamonds are cut to catch light. They are polished to shine. They are sold as a sign of commitment.

My sister’s diamond sparkled when she announced her engagement today. She and her fiancé experienced and endured six years of joy and heat and pressure -- the soul shaping of a good relationship-- and this weekend, a volcanic eruption occurred. She opened her heart to prepare for a lifelong commitment with one big “Yes!”

Prepare the way of the Lord! What is the Lord’s way? Simple, light-filled, piercing and miraculous.

John cried out in the desert. Jesus cried out in a dark cold cave. Did anyone hear?

The census! The census! Register! Report! People crowed the streets and inns when Jesus was born. Their talk and movement filled the air-- the same that took in a tiny wail in the night. Did anyone notice?

Today, Christmas shoppers filed onto highways and swarmed malls. Their car exhaust filled the atmosphere --the same from which the first snowflake fell. Did anyone see it?

Then, the diamonds cascaded from the sky and piled high on the streets and cars and people hurrying by. And traffic slowed and became inconvenient. And perhaps some were angry or upset, but not the people in my neighborhood – for us, God appeared.

We marveled and looked. Two men stopped shoveling and smiled. Three kids sat in plastic sled dishes spinning in the street. Pedestrians called to each other and others walked silently with glowing eyes.

I caught a snowflake on my tongue and my friend laughed.

This same friend watched diamonds fall from my eyes this morning when I mourned the pain of untouched carbon in my heart. Her friendship cut through the darkness and she danced the ache with me, allowing the preceding pressure and heat to begin.

After a time, I know the volcanic eruption will occur. The sufferings turned diamonds will appear. The wounds brought to the surface, endured and healed will transmit radiant light from His smile.

Lord, help me to anticipate You like my sister awaits her wedding day. Help me to wait in the rush, listen and surrender. Help me to notice the small diamonds you give me everyday. Cut through the darkness and fill my heart with Your radiant love.

Presence

I am small. You are big. Fill me with joy.

Adventus

“The King shall come when morning dawns And light triumphant breaks. When beauty guilds the eastern hills and light to joy awakes.”

Adventus is here. Latin for Advent, Adventus means: “arrival, approach, invasion... ripening, visit, appearance...” King-God, help me to prepare with you to welcome your glory this season. 

My first Advent scripture meditation was John 1:1-5. “In him was life and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.”

Today, my friend and I went for a walk by the river. The sun blinded us as we watched the gulls take flight. It warmed our faces as we laughed when I accidentally took pictures of my hand learning to use my new phone.

I relished the presence of my friend who walked amongst the gulls so we could watch them fly. She cheered me in my sickness by asking me silly, interesting and thoughtful questions. She also reminded me of how great it is that in the Body of Christ we aren’t all sick at once – so friends can lift each other up.

As we walked back, I was moved by two exercisers: a professional runner with one arm, and a man with dreadlocks to his waist who danced to the music from his ear buds as he rollerbladed down the path.

These men live in light despite outward appearances. Thank you for this gift, God.

A little further down, we passed a church, where a woman often sits on the steps to escape her negative house environment. My friend knows the woman so we decided to stop for a chat.

Recalling the gift of the gulls, I pulled out the phone I recently received and shared the photos with her. She enjoyed the pictures of my hand and marveled at the brilliance of the sun on the river as the gulls glided above. It was a moment of light, a “smooch from God,” as my friend likes to say – “And the darkness has not overcome it.”

The woman sitting on those church steps reminded me of Mary. Waiting. Alert and aware.

Mary prepared her whole life for the Magnificat. She ran to greet her King, throwing down not flowers in his path, but her life. How does a King enter a heart? Through one who is full of grace.

Mother, full of grace, help me to cherish the gift of life. Help me to prepare for the wonder of new light this Christmas. Help me to open my heart to Him as He reaches out his tiny light-bathed hands to me. And when I’m ripened, help me to run to Him as He is runs and dances toward me.

 “The King shall come when morning dawns And light and beauty brings. Hail, Christ the Lord! Your people pray: Come quickly King of kings.”

Dancin' on Waves

There are two things I can’t live without: children and Christian hip hop music. Both are so danceable…

Two boys in my class were practicing phonograms (foundation to reading) and wanted to know the meaning of vvv… vivid. I told one to get the dictionary.

He leapt to the challenge, grabbed the book from under a swaying pile of other books, lifted it up to the ceiling a la Lion King, jumped with it still stretched high, spun a few times, and landed with knees bent in an 80’s rock dictionary/guitar slam.

Do we still need to define vivid?

Yesterday, I visited old friends and their five children. When I got to their house, the dance party began immediately with two of the little girls. They escorted me into the house with Irish jigs, a little swagga, twirls. Totally uninhibited.

They were learning to read too. One of the girls got her inflated microphone and swayed as she sang me a beginner paperback while her sister echoed each word displaying pages from her unrelated princess book. I really got the full picture.

The Christian hip-hop artist Lecrae also makes me dance with his vivid pictures. A professional dancer friend introduced me to his song “Walking on Water” a few years ago.

“Hey I'm Lecrae, but you can call me "Crayola"

Not because I'm in the kitchen whippin' up the soda
But because I'm here to paint a vivid picture for 'ya
…
I've got the hope, boy, I'm the middle-man
Let me show you my Supply, yeah you need to know 'em
He got me walking on the water when the wind's blowin'
And when the storm's brewin', and when the tide's high
That's when I lean into the truth that I abide by”

“When the storm’s brewin’”…that’s when I need to dance the most. With Him leading as I hold fast. He keeps me close with centrifugal grace as we spin through the night, walking on waves.

Thank God for the middle men, and little men/women, who bring me bright, dancey reminders of hope and freedom.

"Some people call it perseverance 

Some people say endurance
But I know for sure it
It's got me secure…"

Thankful for Alaskan Joy

I am thankful for friends who encourage me that God holds everything in His hands as He makes miracles.

At Mass, the deacon noted that the first Thanksgiving meal wasn’t a feast. It was rather a celebration of getting through the winter with the help of friends.

Last Thanksgiving the rest of my community ate bread and cheese for Friday fast, but my name was drawn with a few others to go to a nearby pro-life dinner. (I had sacrificed Thanksgiving and a pro-life dinner at home and God gave me both back.)

It snowed that evening. On the way home, one of my traveling companions, an Alaskan man with wild hair, scraggly beard and owl-like bushy eyebrows framing his glittery, wonder-filled eyes, sang in a throatier, deeper Woody Guthrie style the Hail Mary. I’d never heard the melody before. It was grounded, but ethereal like wind blowing across the icy tundra.

Late in life, he gave up house and career to build a rural cabin and become a hermit. I am thankful that simplicity taught him joy.

He was the first to notice flowers in the spring -- “Have you seen that little red one on a bush near the house it yet?” The one to smile and point with excitement at falling snow sparkling in the sunlight… A friend of solitude and music with a flair for Johnny Cash’s Ghost Riders in the Sky.

That man had peace about him – and simple, humble joy. When we said the Our Father at Mass, he would pray loudly and clearly with his eyes shut as he held his hands to heaven in total surrender.

A friend emailed me today, “Recently, I had a sense of the Father having ALL things and absolutely EVERYTHING in His hands….With that, came the sense of Him saying, 'you don't ask me.'  As in, 'ask me'.”

This email reminded me of my Alaskan friend, and so now I’m askin’…God, if I hold up my empty hands and surrender again will you give me again everything I need? Can you help me practice gratitude for everything you give me – little flowers, sparkling snow, and suffering?

Lord, I trust in you. Thank you for holding me in your hands, for the memories and people who loved me on Thanksgiving.

King-Man

Today's the feast of Christ the King. I once heard this song in my heart, "Woman, you are my child. Sing a song just for today. Sing a song just for today. King-man, you are my God. I’ll sing a song just for today. Sing a song just for today."

I Made a Stuffed Seahorse

Woah….I just made a stuffed animal seahorse. Creativity is so cool!

Upon research, I learned straight from Wikipedia that seahorses are the world’s slowest fish, and less than 0.5% live past infancy. The seahorse is also one of the most adorable stuffed animals posted on Pinterest.

I wanted to do something creative so I could feel more alive... and my friend is having a baby, so I will make her a gift.

Unfortunately, the link for the seahorse sewing pattern was broken.

So I bought the supplies and printed the seahorse hoping to trace it bigger on fabric. I’m not a great artist and I still wanted a real pattern. I let my perfectionism replace my motivation, and a few weeks passed.

Recently, I spent time with a friend who has a sewing machine. She made the pattern while I sipped tea. Then we laughed about our perfectionist tendencies… I sewed the eye button while she spent 10 minutes sketching the flawless tip of the seahorse’s tail.

At one point, I took a bathroom break and realized my sweatpants were on backwards. A fellow perfectionist couldn’t help a sista out? I mean come on! There’s even a decal on the front!

We both laughed at that, and the three hours it took to make the stuffed toy, following the various “cut” and “sew” lines on the hand-drawn pattern. Though perfectionists, we still made some improvisations, which we explained in professional, educated detail during a pretend sewing infomercial.

In the morning, I woke to find – next to the practically perfect stuffed seahorse – a new hand-drawn color coordinated pattern on the kitchen table. My thoughtful friend is a genius, and I was delighted.

I relearned recently that creativity is part of what it means to be human – and I need it to feel fully alive.

Creativity was reawakened in me last year when I sewed curtains for a priest’s cabin, and a catering cart cover for an industrial kitchen. Designing, planning, and using my weaker left brain was an enlivening challenge. I also discovered that “compliments”/reconciliation I received as a child touched an important part of me.

“You're good with your hands,” my brothers often told me as reparation for insults. The repetition hurt my younger heart, but now I know it's a good gift to have. I also learned that God put creativity in all of us because we’re made in His image.

Last year I began to realize that God, in His creativity, can remake me. I am still me, but He can soften, reshape and open the places that became rigid, shut and sealed with resentment, anger and fear.

One image that came to mind was my body as pliable like bread dough. And God’s chisel was the Eucharist. He gently scraped my malleable body with Himself, carving out lies and helping me to rise – a current work in progress.

God created seahorses, the slowest and least likely to survive in the sea. He also created me. Right now He’s working slowly to transform my woundedness into love. How will I survive? With a little creativity. 

Magnet Man and Mary

“What are you doing here? Are you going to have dinner with us? Do you want to play Magnet Man?” “What are you doing here? Do you want to…”

My friends’ three-year-old asked me these questions repeatedly when I visited last night .

They’re used to it, but I laughed. The kid never stopped talking and he sure wasn’t listening to the answers – it entertained him to ask if I wanted to play Magnet Man in the midst of our playing Magnet Man, his self-made game to which I still don’t understand the ever-changing rules.

After dinner, I attended a one-man play of St. Maximilian Kolbe’s life. He also asked a question continually:  “Who are you, O Immaculate Conception?”

Fr. Kolbe devoted his life to Mary and wondered how is was that the Blessed Mother bore the Savior of the world in her womb – that through her yes she became the universal symbol of reverence for life.

Kolbe followed each of these queries by asking Mary what she wanted him to do. At the end of his life, St. Maximilian offered his life at Auschwitz in place of another prisoner who was scheduled to die.

  

I wondered, how did St. Maximilian have courage to die for that man? How did he have such total trust in Mary’s intercession?

Kolbe received miracles throughout his life when he prayed to Mary. He also lived through darkness and survived. St. Maximilian marked doubt and sickness in his life as moments that strengthened and prepared him for his final mission; he alluded to this in a letter to new Franciscans in his order:

“You must be prepared for periods of darkness, anxiety, doubts, fears, of temptations that are sometimes very, very insistent, of sufferings of the body and, what is a hundredfold more painful, of the soul. For if there were nothing to bear, for what would you go to heaven? If there were no trials, there would be no struggle. Without a struggle, victory would be impossible, and without victory, there is no crown, no reward…So be prepared from now on for everything.” --Letter to newly invested brothers in Grodno 1927

Mary offered Kolbe in a vision when he was 12 a white crown for purity or a red crown for martyrdom. He chose both. He chose to glorify God long before he knew his passion. Mary did the same thing.

Mary was presented in the Temple at the tender age of 3.

After spending time with a 3-year-old last night, I know how pure and close these children are to God. (My friends' son offered delighted gratitude to his father for the leftover steak we were eating: “Thank you, Daddy for making this steak on the grill! Thank you, Daddy…”)

When she was about the age at which Kolbe chose his crowns, Mary said, “My soul magnifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my savior.”

Perhaps Mary’s face was radiant during her Magnificat. But she said yes again with circles beneath her eyes as Jesus learned to sleep at night. And she said yes again at the crucifixion when her face was marked with hard lines of unimaginable sorrow.

Three women I know remind me of Mary’s sufferings – they endured infertility, depression, spousal disharmony. But they continue to stay faithful to their marriages, and their faces carry lines of joy and sorrow as they daily say yes to God.

“Who are you, Immaculate Conception?” What does it mean to magnify the Lord?

Perhaps there is a difference between asking a question repeatedly without listening to the response and asking a question repeatedly to go deeper into the answer.

St. Maximilian asked his question in order to unite his will more fully to God’s through the woman who did it perfectly. Mary died a simple Jewish housewife. Christ magnified his Father on the cross. And St. Maximilian followed these examples – he glorified God by becoming small. And dead.

Do I have the courage to face a 3-year-old’s question: “What are you doing here?”

Only through the light of a deeper question: “Who are you, O Immaculate Conception?” 

 You died to make room for the Incarnation. You are the universal symbol of reverence for life.

“Who are you, O Immaculate Conception?”

I will have to ask you again and again.