It’s Christmas Eve Eve.
I can’t believe it. I still
haven’t wrapped a single gift! Well, I
have stuck one or two in red & gold bags with wrinkled tissue paper
bursting out of the top in an attempt to appear as though I’m good at making a
Christmas gift bag look attractive. But
for the most part, I have a lot to do before the “big” day.
This season of Advent has been pretty reflective and
meaningful – as meaningful and reflective as I can make it given all the
temptations to indulge and get wrapped up in the chaos of this time of
year. A lot has happened in my life in
2014. Abbey was born. I could end there and that would be
plenty! Jeff & I are learning the
imperfect dance of parenthood; as well as figuring out how to do that dance on
the balance beam of life in general - work, friends, and family. It’s an adventure, that’s for sure! She is
only 10 months old and she is already teaching me so much….so much about trust,
about courage, about presence and wonder.
These are great lessons to learn at Advent! There are some days when I cry just because I
love her so much. To be honest, it
scares me. I don’t want to be this out
of control. I don’t want to walk so
blindly along this path of letting go.
But gosh, the joy and the happiness she brings. I wouldn’t trade it for any amount of
homemade bourbon balls or those delicious little
dates-on-a-Ritz-cracker-with-cream-cheese-frosting cookies that are so sinfully
yummy that I could definitely eat the whole bag I was given without thinking
twice. The utter joy that I get from her
presence in our lives could fill up this entire blog. And I intend to dedicate many blogs and
entries especially to her – but for the sake of time, I’ll move on.
Earlier this Fall, Jeff’s 10-year-old cat, Argos, was put
down. For those who know me well
(embarrassingly well), you know that if I were to say I am sad about Argos
being gone, well….it would be a slight diversion of the truth. Does that make me sound like a horrible human
being? Yes. Yes, I’m afraid it does. But I can’t lie to you. I feel like Claire from Modern Family when that old man next door who was friends with
their son died. She couldn’t help
smiling every time she shared the news with others that he was dead. (Okay – making that comparison does not help
my case one bit.) I am being brutally honest and it will probably come back to
bite me in the butt. Oh well – I’m in
too deep now. Might as well keep
going….I’m not sad about Argos the cat no longer being alive. I’m not sad that he doesn’t track dirty paws
all over my kitchen floors and
counters. I’m not sad that he’s not
there for me to find him (once again) curled up in our kitchen or bathroom sink
waiting for someone to turn on the faucet so that he can drink from it. Ew. I’m
not sad that I no longer have to chase him away from uncovered food sitting out
because we just pulled leftovers from the fridge and turned away for 10 seconds
only to discover that while we went to grab a fork from the drawer, his cat
nose was in the leftover casserole container gobbling up my dinner. I’m not sad about any of that. But I will say this: he was Jeff’s first companion. Jeff adopted Argos from the Lexington animal
shelter when he was in college and living in an off campus apartment with his
buddies. From there the Fat Cat (as I
liked to call him) saw Jeff through those difficult but formative seminary
years; he reluctantly put up with Jeff adopting another cat, Skeeter; he traveled
halfway across the country with Jeff to live in Fort Worth because of that one
girl Jeff was engaged to; he reluctantly put up with our adoption of Patch, a
shelter dog, who loved to chase Argos
around the house and to whom Argos “loved” to hiss and growl; Argos put up with
me moving in once Jeff & I got married; he traveled with Jeff back to
Kentucky when we got the call to be ministers in Glasgow; and Argos reluctantly put up with the adoption of our second dog,
Pepper. That’s a lot of trauma for a cat
who would have rather had the house to himself.
And so, to sum it up: Jeff loved Argos.
Argos loved Jeff. And on his last
night on earth (though, even though we knew he was sick, we didn’t know it was
going to be his last night), I
reluctantly let Argos curl up in the kitchen sink because it really was one of
the few things I think that made him happy. See – I do have a heart. When Jeff put Argos down that next September day,
it was the third time I have seen him break down in tears. And when he told me that, in those last
moments, he held Argos close and whispered a prayer of blessing for his life, I
cried too.
Less than a month after Argos died, as we were preparing to
take a family vacation to Florida with my mom & dad, Katherine, Chris &
Ella - Jeff & I were so ready and excited to take Abbey on her first trip
to the beach - I received a phone call at 6:30 one Monday morning from my mom. Granddaddy had been in the hospital following
surgery on his broken leg. In the dark
hours of the morning of September 29th, the most interesting person
on the planet, D.D. Cayce, III, finally gave in to his failing body and
breathed his last breath. This was a
difficult loss for us all. Granddaddy
was one month shy of his 90th birthday. Obviously we are thankful for many, many
years spent with him. So many families
don’t get a fraction of that time with their loved ones. But as odd as this sounds, it still felt too
soon. It still stung sharper than we
wanted it to. Sitting in my office now
is Granddaddy’s brown leather recliner chair.
It smells like him and the seat cushion sinks down on one side, I guess
from how he sat in it. It looks a little
odd to be the main chair in my small office.
It looks big and out of place. A
little awkward probably. But that is
exactly how I want it. Granddaddy was
odd; he was a big man; and he was more than a little socially awkward. And, as I said before, he was the most
interesting person on the planet. He
knew more random information about, well about pretty much anything, than
anyone I’ve ever known. He was a
historian of his hometown of Hopkinsville, Kentucky. Not to mention he was treated as royalty by
the followers of the sleeping prophet, Edgar Cayce, for whom we are related to
and for whom Granddaddy was on the History Channel one time helping to tell the
amazing story. He knew the names of
people who died years ago whose memory was lost in the space of time and
ordinariness. He cared about life – from
the smallest seed to its infinite Creator.
He was faithful. He was
committed. He was one of a kind; you
never knew what he was going to say next, or what would end up on his shirt
from lunch. I’ve told myself that every
time I sit in his chair and then get out I need to exclaim “Oh Mercy
Maude!” I can still hear him say it.
In so many ways, from personal life to world happenings,
this year has been joyous beyond belief and heartbreaking beyond repair. All at once.
It seems like every year – when we get to the week of
Christmas – I would give anything just to add in a few more days. A few more days of Advent, of Christmas
carols; of Home Alone and Christmas Vacation; of lights around
town; of a spirit that – even as commercialized as it is – can be so beautiful
and kind sometimes. Some times. But as it is….
everything will stop, turn off, shut up, and go back to “normal” on the 26th. Even though we don’t have to play the game of
“Consumer Christmas”, it’s everywhere else and too many of us seem to be
playing. Too many of us try to win – to
see who can turn off Christmas the quickest.
And now, a few days shy of my 31st birthday, each
year I seem to want a little more…no not gifts (although I’d take them of
course…). A little more time – to wait,
to wonder, to pray, to sit in the glow of the Christmas lights as the blue
light of a December day dawns. And I
don’t want this just for me, but for you too.
For all of us. For the
world. We all get so anxious these
days. We are anxious to be busy, and if we
aren’t busy then we’re anxious about not being busy enough. We are anxious to be finished with whatever
it is that is stressing us out. Anxious
to the point of exhaustion…and loss. We
lose ourselves, and the art of living, because of this game of anxiety (which
gets even more intense and competitive when we play it alongside the game of “Consumer
Christmas”).
I think our need to stay busy, the high we get when we
go-go-go and get things done, and the inner voice that tells us that we are
lazy, unproductive, and worthless if we stop for a moment, or an afternoon, or
God-forbid a day - I think this need
and this anxiousness to be busy has a lot to do with the pain and suffering of
our world. I’m not saying we shouldn’t
work; I’m not saying we don’t need to be productive or driven or
motivated. I’m not saying any of
that. But I am saying that there is a
difference between being busy and needing
to be busy. There’s a difference between
having a lot to do and thinking that it is the best way or the only way to be. There’s a difference between living a busy
life and living a busy life until you become anxious and numb, with your
steering wheel stuck to cruise control.
And that is when suffering and pain and hurt can happen. When we forget to look inward; when we refuse
to stop; when we put off rest for another day and then another day and then
another day. That’s when, I believe, we
lost sight of who we are…and we lose sight of God. All that happens next is the fall-out.
I get it that there is a lot to be anxious about in this
season – the most “wonderful” time of the year.
I get it that there is a lot to cry about. I get it, I really do. I see it every day. I live it too. And, at the same time, at the very same time – there’s a lot to be
thankful for. There is a lot to
celebrate. And that is worth the
wait. That is worth the rest, and the
prayer, and the thoughtful work of Advent.
It is why – to the disappointment of my inner 8 year-old self – I need a
few more days before Christmas. Not
because I want to prolong the pain and suffering of a broken world. Not because I like being off work, or just
want to live life in my pajamas all the time (even though lots of days this
sounds like a wonderful idea). But
because it is in this kind of waiting…this kind of Advent waiting…. that we can
see the glow of the star. We can hear
the song of the angels. We listen for
the cry of new life. We can cry for the
loss of what once was. We can pay
attention to the kindness of strangers and we can allow ourselves to receive
and give love just for the heck of it.
This is the kind of Advent waiting that can really change the
world. I believe that. I really, really do. Just some days more than others. And that’s why I need a few more days before
tomorrow.
That’s why I sing “O
Come, O Come Emmanuel.”
“O Come, Desire of
nations, bind all peoples in one heart and mind; bid envy, strife and quarrels
cease; fill the whole world with heaven’s peace. Rejoice, rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel!”
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