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Now the Work of Christmas Begins

12/30/2015

Now the Work of Christmas Begins

by Howard Thurman

When the song of the angels is stilled,
when the star in the sky is gone,
when the kings and princes are home,
when the shepherds are back with their flocks,
the work of Christmas begins:
to find the lost,
to heal the broken,
to feed the hungry,
to release the prisoner,
to rebuild the nations,
to bring peace among the people,
to make music in the heart.

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Shortcuts to meaning

12/23/2015

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I wanted to write something profound and original today. But I realized I didn’t have to add that to my holiday madness. Instead I could take a shortcut by offering my favorite holiday readings from church. I had to remind myself that this shortcut isn’t cheating. In fact, it’s a way for me to take up the challenge of this season by actually doing less.

For So the Children Come
by Sophia Lyon Fahs

For so the children come
And so they have been coming.
Always in the same way they come
born of the seed of man and woman.
No angels herald their beginnings.
No prophets predict their future courses.
No wisemen see a star to show where to find the babe
that will save humankind.
Yet each night a child is born is a holy night,
Fathers and mothers --
sitting beside their children's cribs
feel glory in the sight of a new life beginning.
They ask, "Where and how will this new life end?
Or will it ever end?"
Each night a child is born is a holy night --
A time for singing,
A time for wondering,
A time for worshipping.

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Comforting the Stranger

12/16/2015

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Last week I was rushing through my day when I noticed a young woman with tears running down her face leaning back against a marble post. I gave her my best look of sympathy as I hurried by. In a flash so many thoughts rushed through my head: Poor honey, I hope she’s okay. What if she really needs help? Is it my place to offer support? What if she wants to be left alone? But what if she really needs help?

My doubts were compounded by the racial and generational differences between us. And then I thought, This is an opportunity to practice what I preach about crossing artificial boundaries. I stopped and turned back around. She watched me walk towards her.

I tentatively asked, “Do you need help?”

“I feel like my chest is going to explode,” she stammered out.
“Take some deep breaths.” I’m a firm believer that deep breathing can solve many problems. We inhaled together a few times.

“Can I take your pulse?” I asked, more as a way to offer physical contact than to offer medical advice.

She offered her arm. I reached for her outstretched hand with both of mine. She squeezed my left hand as I rested my right fingers on her wrist.

“Maybe I’m having a panic attack?” she wondered.

“Have you had them before?”

She shook her head.

“Did you hear something or see something upsetting before this started?”

“I just met with my professor about my grade.” She closed her eyes tight.

“That would do it,” I agreed.

We stood there for a few minutes, holding hands and breathing together. Eventually she nodded, “It’s getting better.”

I asked, “Have you eaten anything today?”
She shook her head.

“Have you had anything to drink?”

No again.

“Do you have money to buy yourself something to eat and drink?”

She nodded.

“Do you have more classes or are you going home now?”

“Home.”

“How do you go home?”

“BART.”

“Will you be okay going on BART by yourself after you’ve had something to eat and drink?”

She nodded.

“Can I give you hug?”

Her body visibly relaxed even more, “Yes.”

We hugged for much longer than most strangers would. As a doula I got used to a lot of physical contact with virtual strangers. I was willing to stay with her as long as she wanted.
When she broke away, I squeezed her hand, let her know that I’ve been there too after talking to professors.

“Thank you,” she said softly before I walked away.

I don’t know her name, how to be in touch, or the end of this particular story. I assume she got home. I’ve thought of her often over the days since. I wish her well and I’m grateful she was open to letting a stranger comfort her, however limited that comfort might have been. I hope she remembers it as tenderly as I do.

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Happy Holidays: Welcome to emotional whiplash

12/9/2015

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“What do you do to celebrate the holidays?” I asked a group of children. Hands shot up in the air and the answers flowed quickly:

“I see my grandparents.”

“We decorate for Christmas on the day after Thanksgiving.”

“My whole family goes to get the Christmas Tree and we drink hot chocolate at the lot.”

“We go to my neighbors and stay up until midnight.”

“We have a special meal with chicken.”

“We go to church at night.”

“My mother and I go to tea, just the two of us.”

“We go skiing.”

“We light candles on the menorah each night.”

Children, and adults, remember how the holidays feel far more than any gifts they receive. The holidays are at once exciting, fun, disappointing, poignant, calm, spacious, frantic, self-centered, and generous. Phew! No wonder I have emotional whiplash this time of year. I strive to be thoughtful about how I want the holiday season to feel for my family. I want to let go of the traditions that no longer serve us, and hold on to the ones that do. As the years have gone by we’ve created new traditions that are in line with our changing selves and our values. This time of darkness is a great time to practice generosity, gratitude, service, and self-reflection in contrast to the over-consumption and consumerism preached by so much media. May your holidays be filled with moments where you actually notice and feel the grace and joy.

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Noticing Joy

12/3/2015

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Joy. I’d like to offer you a simple recipe for it. Tell you just the right meal to serve, or gift to purchase, or words to say. But I have never found a consistent recipe for the particular experience that is joy. I find that joy, like its twin, grace, is an unasked-for gift that simply lands in my heart.

I do know that joy most often fills me at those unexpected moments when I take the time to notice how blessed I am.

Joy: It can’t be purchased. It can’t be scheduled. It can’t be given to you.

But it is there every day for the noticing. For me there is joy in perfectly buttered popcorn, in a wide-smiled greeting, in a phone call asking for advice about how to vote, in a perfect breeze, in the bright lights that cut through the darkness this time of year, in beams of sunlight landing on my face. The opportunity for joy surrounds me every day, but only if I take a moment to notice, to pay attention, to feel the blessing of this very mundane and yet miraculous day.

May you find joy in the everyday miracles that surround you.

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