Category Archives: Faith and Spirituality

Faith and Spirituality

Saved from the Ashes

Some months ago I awoke in the night from what is, as of yet, the most horrific dream of my life.  Nothing really happened in the dream, so I won’t bore you with details.  My husband is quick to remind me that nothing is more tedious than listening to another person’s dreams.  I saw an image, a murky, indescribable image, that somehow engendered an overwhelming and bone-deep sensation of foreboding and dread.  I was paralyzed with fear, but the feeling went far beyond fright. The vision was one of doom, of being trapped for all eternity in a state of absolute and utter hopelessness. 

The effects of the dream persisted.  I couldn’t shake the sense of helplessness and loss.  There was no question of returning to sleep anytime soon.  I looked at my little dog, curled peacefully in his bed just a few feet away.  He appeared blissfully oblivious to the terror that swirled around me like a storm cloud.  Because of his gentleness and sweet demeanor, he has become for me a symbol of all that’s good and right in the world.  Yet his presence lacked any power to comfort me that night.  I wandered silently from room to room, but could find no sense of peace.  No human touch, no human words would help, I knew.  The fear went too deep.  The sense of isolation was too complete. 

Eventually it struck me that the essence of my nightmare vision was that of complete abandonment by God.  And then I saw that hope surely remained.  The comforting words of the Twenty-third Psalm came to me like a gift:

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear no evil, for you are with me. 

In my dream, I had seen the hopelessness of a life of Ash Wednesday ashes.  Without God’s love, we are doomed to the ashes, to the dust and the darkness. 

We turn away from God.  We turn away repeatedly.  But God never turns away from us. He does not abandon his children. 

Everyone who calls upon the name of the Lord will be saved.

–Romans 10:13

That night I was too rattled to pray my own prayers.  But the words of the Lord’s prayer were within my grasp.  I knew I was not abandoned to the darkness. 

That night I thanked God for his grace.  Since then, having glimpsed the desolation of hopeless gloom, I almost always remember to thank him every day.  On this Ash Wednesday, I thank him again. 

 

For additional thoughts on Ash Wednesday, see these earlier posts:  What’s with the Ashes?; Ashes to Ashes; and Those Gray Smudges.

 

Faith and Spirituality, Family, Holiday, Parenthood

Extreme Gift Wrapping, Christmas 2015

It’s well past Christmas, I realize, but I’m running behind in this new year, just as I was in the old year.  It’s consistent, then, that my last Christmas post, an annual update on extreme gift wrapping, appears two weeks into January. 

Thanks to my husband and daughter, it’s hard to predict what might appear around the tree in the days leading up to Christmas:  a family of enormous cylinders, a tall skinny pyramid, a child-sized obelisk, a gift tower ten feet high.  Not all packages appear under the tree; some have been suspended from the ceiling.  Certainly one of the most original and unexpected presentations was the pentagon and five pyramids that came together to form a star on Christmas morning.  My husband, searching for ideas for this year’s wrapping scheme, found that when he Googled “Extreme Gift Wrapping,” the first image that popped up was that very star he’d made in 2012.  He and my daughter have set the bar high. We’re prepared to be wowed.  (For previous years, see  here, here, and here.)

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Getting to “wow” becomes all the more unlikely when one expects it.  Subtler strategies must evolve.  When the first gift from my husband to my daughter appeared a few days before Christmas, it was an ordinary square box, wrapped in plaid paper.  On one side there was a wedge-shaped section of silver paper.  Simple.  Not showy.  If you didn’t know better you might think he’d run out of paper. 

My daughter countered with a more emphatic gesture:  she transformed a gift to her father into a gold and white-patterned Droid.  Her Star Wars tribute, she called it. 

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My husband was impressed and intrigued.  (Kiko, not so much.  He showed mild interest when H made it move.) 

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Eight more gifts for our daughter appeared during the next several days.  Each one was wrapped in the same size square box.  Most, but not all, had an apparently random section of shiny silver paper on one side.  On Christmas Eve, the gifts were piled seemingly haphazardly around the tree. 

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On Christmas morning, the square packages for our daughter were stacked, as if by Santa, so that the silver paper formed the letter J, her first initial.  (When I refer to her as “D,” it stands for “daughter.”)

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The “J Wall” as I think of it, lacks the visual impact of the star.  Indeed, that star is hard to surpass.  But it’s clever.  If you think about it philosophically, you could say it reshuffles chaos into order, into meaning.  Sort of the way the divine magic of Christmas can inject order and meaning into our lives, if we let it. 

And  if you simply consider how the J Wall looks, you’d probably say it serves as a very pleasing complement to the Droid, a charming creation on its own. 

Hats off, again, to H & D for keeping the ball in play during their ongoing volley of extreme gift wrapping!  What, I wonder, will they do next year?  (Glad I’m only a spectator in the game.)

Faith and Spirituality, Holiday

Merry Christmas, 2015!

This Christmas. . .

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Maybe you’ll welcome visitors from afar. . .

 or a furry friend or two. . .

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Maybe you’ll cuddle a new baby or make new friends (perhaps a carpenter, a fireman, a king, or a shepherd). . .

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Whatever you do, may an angel watch over you.

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And may your day be filled with great love and joy!

Merry Christmas!

Community, Faith and Spirituality, Family, Holiday

Christmas Eve 2015: Magic in the Live Nativity

039Christmas Eve is here again.  Much like last year, the day is wet, cloudy, and unseasonably warm.  It’s time again for the live nativity at our church.  The baby Jesus, of course, is the real star of the show, but he’s small.  The camel, however, is quite large, and he tends to be the traffic-stopper.  Last year, our camel was not Samson, who was busy elsewhere, but his colleague Zeke.  Zeke enjoyed kneeling in the mud, and he therefore appeared in many selfies.  

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Kiko had the privilege of meeting Zeke, since the camel leaned down for a hello sniff.  The year before, Samson stood so tall and aloof that Kiko never seemed to notice him. 

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We also welcomed this little ox and burro, as well as a sheep and a goat.  I’m hoping we’ll see the whole gang again today.

If you have the opportunity to experience a live nativity in your area, I advise you not to miss it.  The shepherds and kings may be rag-tag; the baby Jesus may be a doll; Mary and Joseph may be played by a teenaged brother and sister.  With luck, there will be a few real animals.  I hope you get to meet a camel, an elegant and surprisingly sweet regal creature. 

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Give the humble tableau a chance, and perhaps, unexpectedly, your heart will be touched.  The make-shift nativity could speak to you of a God who turns the world upside down, who sent his own Son to live among us, in the mud and grit, to suffer and die, just as we must do, to wipe away our sin and invite us into the heavenly fold.  There is a chance that you might be overwhelmed by a sense of majesty.  Stranger things have happened, after all, on Christmas. 

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May you rejoice in the off-key songs of the tinsel-haloed angels with their awkward cardboard wings.  May you feel the power of the light in the darkness, the divine, holy light that will never be extinguished.  No matter what.  No matter what.  Amen. 

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For a previous Christmas Eve post, with more about that light in the darkness, see here.    

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Faith and Spirituality, Holiday, Nature

Acknowledging that it’s December. . .

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Once again, it’s December.  Too soon, as always.  Although the pre-Christmas busy-ness has been no more extreme than usual, the details have kept my mind too crowded to devote time to writing.  Or to much thought, in general, for that matter.  It’s hard not to let the post-Thanksgiving lead-up to December 25 become an endurance game of checking off never-ending lists.  Lights replaced on the playroom tree?  Yes. Whew. Cross that out.  One small victory.  On to the next task, with many more to follow. 

Last year I wrote about the fine line between reveling in the spirit of Christmas and veering off the deep end into holiday excess.  (See here.)  It’s an issue I guess I’ll grapple with until I’m physically unable to haul out the decorations.  But that might not stop me.  Will I be directing my daughter, or some kindly, younger neighbor?  I hope not.  But then again, no one else could do it to please me. 

Anyway, the wreaths are up on our house and on the old maple stump out front by the road.  The stump survived another year. This summer it played host to a thicket of tall green foliage. 

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As long as any part of the decaying tree remains, we’ll decorate it in December.  For me, it’s a reminder of the true spirit of Christmas: because a baby was born many years ago in Bethlehem, out of death comes new life.  That is the best antidote to holiday excess I can imagine. 

For my first post on this subject, see Deck the Tree Stump, posted almost exactly two years ago.      

Faith and Spirituality, Friendship, Nature

The Red Tree and the Legacy of Eugenia Brown

Today is the day for that steady, late fall rain that washes much of the brilliant color from the trees.  In tomorrow’s sunshine, many branches will be newly bare.  Gutters and lawns, though, will gleam red, orange and gold.  One of the brightest patches in our area will be beneath this magnificent tree.  

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Located behind our church, it’s adorned with some of the most vividly red leaves imaginable.  I’d always assumed it was a maple.  When someone referred to it as an oak, I knew that wasn’t right.  But in September, when Kiko and I were sitting in its shade for the Blessing of the Animals, I realized I was wrong, too.  This was no maple.  The leaves, still green then, were the wrong shape. And there were berries.  Bluish-purple berries, like elongated blueberries.   

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What was this tree?  No one seemed to know.  But mention “that red tree by the church” and everyone knew exactly which one you meant.  I began an internet search.  Googling “trees with blue berries” didn’t provide a quick answer. 

Then I remembered my little tree book, which I’d recently brought from Atlanta.  As I mentioned in a previous tree post, a neighbor gave me the book when I was a child.  She encouraged me to look closely and appreciate nature as we saw it all around us.  She was Eugenia Brown, a Southern lady with a Southern name, a proud graduate of Decatur’s Agnes Scott College some decades before.  (Daddy thought she was too old to be talking so much about her Agnes Scott days.)  Mrs. Brown was a wise woman, and I’ve only recently begun to realize the impression she made on me.  She wasn’t particularly religious, but I can see now that when we examined leaves, acorns, pine cones, shells and flowers, she encouraged my sense of wonder for that vast and easily overlooked array of amazing little things God made.  His little creations–those unique, tiny masterpieces of design–they have always brought me joy.  For that gift, I thank Mrs. Brown. 

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I found the book, and sure enough, I discovered the tree almost immediately, recognizing it from the handy close-up painting of its red leaves and berries.  It’s a Black Gum tree.  Also known as Black Tupelo, Sourgum or Pepperidge.  According to the concise text, “Black Gum leaves are smooth and shiny, turning brilliant red in fall.  The dark blue fruit is eaten by birds and small mammals.”  Bingo. 

Yet again, thank you, Mrs. Brown.  And thank you, God.  Had I not known Mrs. Brown, had she not given me the tree book, I might not be able to find such solace in the beauty of little things and the God who made them.  How wonderful it is that our God designed bright red canopies with plump blue berries to shelter and sustain His littlest winged and furry creatures!  To paraphrase that old hymn, His eye is on the berry, and I know he watches me. 

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Faith and Spirituality, Nature

The Easter Promise

My husband trimmed some of our trees a couple of weeks ago.  I couldn’t bear to see the cut branches simply tossed away, so I gathered them and put them in water.  When we left last Tuesday to visit my parents in Atlanta, the branches were a stark  study in brown and gray. 

When we returned on Easter night, the branches were no longer bare.  On the lilac cuttings were delicate green leaves.  Tiny bright fuchsia flowers adorned the redbud branches.  What had appeared to be dead had bloomed with new life. 

And here it is, God’s Easter promise, as clear as the blue sky on this gloriously warm and beautiful spring day.  The cruel cross has become the tree of life.  Because of the unimaginable sacrifice of our loving God, death’s power has been defeated.  The gates of heaven are open to all who thankfully accept the priceless gift of grace.  Let us rejoice and be glad! 

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Now let the heavens be joyful!  Let earth the song begin!

Let the round world keep triumph, and all that is therein.

Let all things seen and unseen their notes in gladness blend,

for Christ the Lord hath risen, our joy that hath no end. 

–The Day of Resurrection

words: John of Damascus, trans. by John Mason Neale, 1862

music: Henry Smart, 1835

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Faith and Spirituality

Those Gray Smudges

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If you aren’t homebound today by snow, ice or frigid temperatures, you may come across folks with messy gray smudges on their foreheads.  If you’re planning to get smudged yourself, you know it’s Ash Wednesday.  Our church’s service was canceled due to extreme cold and expected snow showers on top of existing snow and ice.  So I won’t be receiving the ashes tonight. 

But I’ll be thinking about what it means.  For Christians, Ash Wednesday is a day for confronting our mortality and unworthiness.  It’s a time to thank God for loving us despite our unworthiness.  He could have left us in the ash pile, but instead, he invites us with Him to a realm of light and glory.  

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For more in-depth thoughts on Ash Wednesday, see earlier posts from 2013 and 2012. 

Community, Faith and Spirituality, Family, Holiday

On Christmas Eve Especially, That Light in the Darkness

This Christmas Eve here in Virginia dawned gray and rainy, as it did along most of the east coast.  According to the weather forecast, the day will remain gray and rainy.  The heaviest rain is likely to coincide with our church’s live outdoor nativity.  There may be thunderstorms. 

At last year’s nativity, for the first time, our human participants, that motley, multi-aged crew of holy family, shepherds and kings, were joined by several four-legged friends.  These included a burro, a sheep and a goat.  Kiko found the burro quite fascinating. The burro ignored Kiko.   

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But best of all, there was Samson the camel.  Samson surveyed the scene with a majestic air of intelligence and calm.  He seemed to enjoy nuzzling his many appreciative fans.  He and his mate Delilah, who had another engagement, live on a farm in rural Virginia.  Samson’s handler appears with him in appropriately Biblical costume and beard. 

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We all hope bad weather won’t keep Samson away.  I doubt it will; he’s a sturdy sort.  Last year, he was unperturbed in the face of a frigid, persistent wind. 

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We know with absolute certainly that nothing can extinguish the true light of Christ that dawns in our dark world.  It’s the flame that glows within us, if we let it, all our lives, illuminating our paths and those of others with whom we share the road. 

I wrote about that light in the darkness several years ago in a Christmas Eve post.  It continues to express my thoughts for the day, and it can be found here.

This Christmas Eve, may we feel the warmth of the miraculous light, and may we keep it burning.