Why you hate Christmas

                                                                                 All is calm,

All is bright.

I should say not.  Not in the slightest.  There's nothing about Christmas that is calm and bright.  Well, maybe bright in a few places, but most certainly not calm.  That's why secretly you don't like Christmas.  You think it's supposed to be all silent night and calm and bright and peace on earth and mercy mild.  No wonder you don't like it.  You eat more than you should.  You have to hang out with people you may or may not like.  You have to show up to work Christmas parties that have the potential to be awkward and boring.  You probably have to clean your house.  Traffic is crazy because everyone's Aunt Mathilda from Milwaukee is in town and lost on the freeway.  Your neighbor has better Christmas lights.  Your neighbor's kid is getting the Gismopieceofcrap 2500 and your kid is only getting the 2450.  You have to decide with your significant whoever whose family you're spending time with when, and who you'll offend if you don't. 

On top of all that, you've got all this Christmas music trying to convince you it's the most wonderful time of the year and that your life should be calm and bright, not to mention in order.  Everyone should be getting along and enjoy spending time together.  You should have a beautiful Christmas photo and letter that you send out to your 200 closest friends heralding all your accomplishments this year.  You should be holly and jolly - whatever that means. 

All this is about the Baby, right, the one born in a manger, which really wasn't a feed trough and laid on hay that was fresh and practically sterilized.  He was lulled to sleep by angels' songs, greeted by jolly, grandfathery shepherds and thrown a baby shower by wise men who were there the night he was born. 

Ha. 

Well, I have some good news, and some bad news.  The bad news is, if you celebrate that kind of Christmas, you will probably do your best to convince yourself it's not a miserable holiday, and you just might succeed.  You might do such a good job of tricking yourself that you just love the holiday stress  bustle and spending more money than you have gift giving that you just have yourself a miserable little Christmas every year.  That is bad news, indeed.

The good news is, the real Christmas is a great deal less calm, peaceful and most wonderful time of the yearish.  In fact, aside from the fact that the Messiah was coming, it was really quite a mess. 

Four hundred years of silence between God and His people. 

An oppressive Roman rule.

A (probably teenage) mom who wasn't married yet, but claimed that she hadn't slept with her fiancee, that the child was really the Son of God because an angel told her so.

The condemnation of a whole town, not just on her, but on all the people she loved (talk about starting off on the wrong foot with the inlaws). 

Lots of traffic on the roads because of the Roman decree to be registered.

All the inns are booked, sorry, there's a barn/cave/nasty hole out back, sleep in that.

Giving birth to a baby without sisters or a mother or probably even a midwife, just a carpenter husband and a donkey or two.

Dirty, smelly, redneck shepherds scared out of their socks by a "heavenly host" (a whole flipping lot of supernatural warrior dudes - not girly angels with folded hands and long, flowy hair) telling them to go to Bethlehem because after 400 agonizing years, God has literally broken the silence with the Word, Immanuel, God with us.

A bunch of redneck shepherds showing up to the delivery room/barn/cave/nasty hole asking a lot of questions and probably making a lot of ruckus, and adding to it by exuberantly shushing each other.

A bunch of some of the best storytellers scrambling through hill and dale to spread the greatest story ever told.

More questions than answers about how this tiny, hungry God/baby was supposed to be the Savior of the world.

That's the real Christmas.  God showing up to carry out a rescue that the best tactical operations team couldn't have dreamed up.  Instead of just speaking from heaven and commanding everyone's obedience, let's send someone in.  Not an angel, let's send Jesus.  No, We won't send Him on a flaming chariot coming in from the sky, we'll have Him start from scratch, as a baby.  Let's have Him be born to someone who isn't married yet so they don't think He's just a normal kid.  We'll arrange it so everyone's welcome.  There will be shepherds and kings (but they'll come later) and grownups and kids.  He won't be what they're expecting.  What they want is someone to save them from the Romans, someone to show up and lead a rebellion.  What I'm going to do is save them from their brokenness, save them from the inside out. 

Now that's a Merry Christmas.

May your days be full of real Christmas, and may all your Christmases be a color appropriate for the climate in which you live,

Little Miss Sunshine

The Compulsory New Year's Post

New Year's Resolutions.  I do make them.  Call me naïve or idealistic, but I make them most years and try to live them out at least until mid-March or early April if I'm lucky.  I think last year's resolution was "be a neater person".  I'm not a slob, but my room does tend to become a habitat for pilus cluttericus, which reproduce until I put my foot down (usually on something prickly) and declare I've had enough.  The whole room gets straightened and pilus become an extinct species. 

2012.  Two thousand twelve.  2x1000 + 1x10 + 2x1.  What does it have in store?  What should I resolve?  When I think of resolutions, I think of John Wesley.  The man took his resolutions seriously.  To me, they're kind of a sentimental Western world annual rite of passage.  I'm taking part of a tradition with hundreds of thousands of other people.  It's similar to how I feel in an airport, a sort of kinship with people who have stood barefoot in security lines with me... but I digress.

I don't think this year will have a resolution, but as is the flavor of the day, I am picking a word.  Last year, my word was buoyant.  It's a pretty cool word to spell, and I like the word picture - not always on top, but always bouncing back.  It means I don't have to be in a great mood or successful all the time, but it means nothing will keep me from living the full life. 

Ready for this year's word?  It came to me tonight as we were wending our way through the desert on the way back from a little ranch nestled between cottonwood and mesquite groves.  Our family always spends the day with friends at their grandpa's ranch.  On the way home, it came to me.  This year's word is…

FIGHT.

I know, it's not a soft, dreamy-eyed word, and it's not usually associated with good things.  Well, it's the word of the year, and here's why.  Life's a battle.  There is no neutral, no sitting on fences.  I want to... 

FIGHT

      for

kind and honest communication in my relationships

the underdog

a healthy understanding of who I am

the Gospel to be heard

a balance between work and rest

an understanding of the world

a life full of art, music and dancing

future generations

concise, engaging writing

a life filled with the power of Jesus

fearlessness

Happy New Year,

Little Miss Sunshine