20131220 – My Reason, My Season, My Choice This Christmas

Despite the three “My”s in the title, this post is not about just me; it’s about my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, and my love for Him, and my joy for this greatest of all gifts that God gave to all the people of the world. It’s about my excitement that Jesus survived to the appointed time through the grace and love of God, his family, his friends, and his followers. It’s about what he taught me through the Gospel stories. And it’s about what God taught me through the prophets and believers and the stories they told that were captured in those books of the Bible written so many centuries ago. Note too that while this is written in first person singular, my wife contributed to this piece and she and I are of one accord; we together speak these things with one voice, and one heart.

I firmly believe that what I understand about the Bible, and how I live consistent with that understanding, and my complete and unconditional acceptance of Jesus Christ as my Lord and personal savior are sufficient for my salvation and entry into God’s kingdom here on earth and in Heaven. Beyond what I understand about the Bible, I do not know conclusively what else Jesus may have taught, nor do I choose to assume anything beyond his lessons and stories documented in the Gospels. Consequently, I do not believe that God will condemn me to eternal life in purgatory or hell for choosing to celebrate the giving of His matchless gift, Love, through His son Jesus Christ.

So how do I explain to my grandchildren how and why I choose to celebrate this great gift from God? This is what I will tell them.

I choose to celebrate Christ’s birth because for me it is an overwhelmingly joyful event and for me the greatest gift humans were ever given. I know that it was not the custom or the culture to celebrate birthdays two thousand years ago; but that was then, this is now, and I choose.

I choose to celebrate Christ’s birth in late December because it is a time of change, it is a time of clearing the slate, and it is a time of preparing to start another season of life. In our climate it is a time of peacefulness and quiet and stillness. It is a time of stark beauty. It is a time of brightness in the night sky. It is a time of great expectations for the future. I could just as easily choose to celebrate in the spring, another new season, but that is a time of rebirth when I celebrate his death and resurrection. I could choose to celebrate at the Jewish celebration of Sukkoth which may or may not be a more accurate choice from the standpoint of the ancient calendar. I do not choose because the Council of Nicaea chose the Feast of Saturnalia nearly 1700 years ago. I do not choose because of the modern culture I have lived in for over 60 years. That was then, this is now, and I choose.

I choose to celebrate Christ’s birth with the giving of gifts to those I love and cherish. God gave the greatest gift of all, His love through His son. How can I not pass that gift along through the gift of my time and love to my family and friends and even my enemies as Jesus taught me to do? Will God condemn me if I give tokens of my love and affection along with that love and affection? I don’t think so. Historically the Magi gave gifts to honor Kings; gifts were not given on birthdays. That was then, this is now, and I choose.

I choose to celebrate Christ’s birth by placing mementos of God’s love, and my family’s love and of special events on a fir tree, a tree that maintains its color through the seasons and reminds me of another of God’s great gifts, this Earth and all life upon it. I could just as easily not keep any mementos, or I could place them on a mantel, or a table, or a shelf. Western Europeans used a tree for other special events and pagan purposes centuries ago. But that was then, this is now, and I choose.

I choose to celebrate Christ’s birth with the majority of my Christian community so we can raise our voices together.  I want to join my voice with others and sing the beautiful and moving songs of the season; the songs of faith and joy and love.  I choose to celebrate in fellowship…I choose.

My choice poses challenges, a kind of Christmas conundrum when it comes to those I love who choose differently. I can settle into the gloom of our different choices, or I can choose the fact that those I love still celebrate Jesus’ birth and life joyfully, however and whenever they choose to do so. And I choose joy.

It troubles me that there is so much discord these days about the holidays and the reason that Christmas was created and celebrated as a holiday. It troubles me that consumerism and materialism have encroached on the religious nature of the holiday. And it does trouble me that the decision by the Romans to position Christmas on December 25 was in effect co-opting a pagan celebration. But I believe it was done at least to some degree with the intent of making disciples for Christ, and that’s not a bad thing.

No, I don’t believe God would condemn me to hell for celebrating His son’s birth as I choose to, any more than He would condemn me for choosing to worship as a Methodist instead of as a Calvinist or a Lutheran or a Baptist or a Catholic.

It’s a long explanation that my grandchildren are not yet ready for; and it will come out gradually as they begin to ask questions. Until then I will happily celebrate Christmas at least twice each year, once with my daughter and her family at Sukkoth, and once in December for me. In fact, I think I’ll just celebrate Christmas every day of the year by giving the gift of time, love, and the occasional gold, frankincense, and myrrh when I can’t be the hands, feet and heart of Christ in person.

And to all of you readers out there, know that when I wish you a Merry Christmas, it’s only because I know what I celebrate, but I don’t know if you celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Saturnalia, Ramadan, or even Festivus. All I wish for you is joy and peace no matter how or what you celebrate this season, your choice…Pops

20131217 – Empty Nest, Full Hearts

A little more than thirty-three years ago our nest consisted of two humans and a canine. And then another precious little human appeared in our nest. We adapted and loved and nurtured and taught and raised that little person up in the ways he should go. About four years after that another little human graced our nest with her presence. And we adapted and loved and nurtured and taught and raised that little person up in the ways she should go. Others joined us in our safe and warm little nest for a little while or longer. And we sheltered and helped and supported and shared a little of our hearts with each of them before they ventured out again.

For all of these years our nest was never empty, until now. The little human who first appeared in our nest has become the last to leave, big and strong and mature, ready to make his own way in the world, his lovely bride by his side. As we helped them move over the weekend I began to ponder life in an empty nest, and found I wasn’t as excited about the prospect as I first thought I would be.

Part of living in the sandwich is caring for and taking care of your extended family, and feeling needed and important and loved in the process. How does that continue to work in their absence, when the sandwich is no more?

Our youngest left first and now lives on the other side of a continent; but we still talk with her almost daily as she shares the challenges of raising her own family and asks questions about so many different things that are new to her but facts of life for us.

Our oldest left last and now lives just a short drive away. Will we still talk with him daily? Will he call with questions about new challenges they face? Will he ask us over just to share a meal or fix something around the house? Will I still get to be a Dad every once in a while?

Many years ago, as he reached college age, I wrote a little poem, blank verse, about his leaving the nest. Now that time has finally come:

There he goes!  Made it out of the bedroom, now he’s down the hall.

Watch him turn the corner, Oops!  The carpet got him but that’s okay.

His first solo steps, and he wasted no time!

Traveled half the house on the very first try.

“How far can I go Daddy?”  “We’ll see.”

Lord, thank you for giving us a son.

“Wow Daddy, a shiny new tricycle, blue with silver fenders!”

“Here we go Son, put your feet right here, now push one, then the other.”

There he goes!  Made it down the drive.

“How far can I go, Daddy?”  “We’ll see.”

Lord, please protect our son.

“Hey Daddy, a bicycle with training wheels!  Thanks!”

“Here we go Son, just like your trike, but you need to balance.

Don’t worry, I’m holding on to the seat.  You can do it.”

“Okay Daddy, let go now.  I can do it!

How far can I go, Daddy?”  “We’ll see.”

Lord, please keep him safe.

“Daddy, these training wheels are really noisy!”

“Well let’s take them off, Son.  Now you steer and balance together.

Feel how it stays up, and turns if you lean?”

“Its tricky Daddy, but I can do it!”  “Lets try again.”

“How far can I go, Daddy?”  “Son, we’ll see.”

Lord, please comfort him when he falls.

“Gee Dad, this mountain bike is great!  Thanks!”

“Do you need some help Son?  Those gears are kind of tough to handle.

Feel each click of the shift, pick the right gear to get you up the hill.”

“I feel it Dad, sometimes it’s hard to pedal, sometimes easy.”  “That’s right, Son.”

“How far can I go, Dad?”  “We’ll see Son, we’ll see.”

Lord, please give him strength for the mountains he’ll climb.

“Hey Dad, Drivers’ Ed is a lot of fun!

But I didn’t know there was so much to learn about driving.”

“Lots of rules Son, but they come with the territory.

Remember, take care of the car, mind the rules, and be sensible.”

“How far can I go, Dad?”  “We’ll see Son, we’ll see.”

Lord, please show him the way, and give him faith.

“Car’s all loaded Dad; I’m ready to go.”

“Got everything you need, Son?”  “I think so.”

“What about…”  “Hang on to it for me, would you please?”

“Sure Son, remember to call, and write!”  “Thanks Dad, I promise I will!”

“How far will you be going, Son?”  “We’ll see Dad, we’ll see.”

Lord, walk with him every mile.

Hugs all around, then Mom and Dad retreat to the front room, 

and part the curtains a bit.

He backs down the drive, pauses, and signs “I love you” through the glass.

Holding each other, they mouth the words back, then wave as he pulls away.

Brake lights at the street corner…moist eyes in the front room.

She searches his face, “Will he be okay?”  His strained whisper, “We’ll see…”

Lord, we entrust him to you, and thank you for the privilege.

20131203 – Empty Nests and the Christmas Letter

Some of you are certainly prompt with your Christmas cards and letters! The first two arrived in the mail yesterday, emphasizing the big task on my list for the next few weeks; that of completing our own family Christmas greetings before the big event. I’m excited about the task ahead and looking forward to reconnecting with long-missed friends and distant family members. At the same time I have mixed emotions about this season. This just may be a hard to write Christmas Letter.

I always look forward to Christmas as not just a celebration of Christ’s birth, but a celebration of love and family and faith. It’s the giving of time and self much more than the giving of gifts that makes this holiday special for me. But this will be a celebration of mixed blessings, this Christmas of 2013. This year our home will feel more empty than it has in thirty-three years as this season marks the end of multiple generations sharing this place, and this space. It will be our first empty nest Christmas since we began our family a third of a century ago.

Oh yes, we’ll have plenty of family time, not to worry; but to wake up on Christmas morning to a quiet house, and not hear the squeal of little voices or the patter of little feet (or these days the gentle treading of my son’s size eleven slippers) will not necessarily be a welcome change. It will be a difficult adjustment, one that I do not anticipate with joy, one that will not provoke a, “Yes, finally have the house to ourselves again” kind of feeling (although I’m sure that sentiment will flash through my brain on occasion, perhaps in the middle of a steamy hot shower, or watching a movie in the family room in my pajamas).

Passages, reimagining life as I mentioned last week; that is what is being thrust upon us this Christmas season. And with no children at home, and grandchildren at the other end of the continent, this will be a rather abrupt shift to a new stage of life for us.

S and L, and D and I were working away at Mom’s condo Saturday, packing and painting and arranging, and sneaking in a quick pizza and soda for sustenance. It felt good and it brought back memories of our own first move to our own place. It’s a good thing to take on that responsibility, and the even bigger responsibility of being a caretaker for Grandma’s place for a time, a responsibility S and L are not taking lightly. Still, they’re excited to be moving out and taking this large next step in their life together as a couple.

Put in the context of celebrating new life, I think this Christmas will be exactly that, a time to celebrate the birth of newly re-imagined lives and the baby steps it takes to start down new paths, paths that may take us far apart, but at the end of life as we know it, will inevitably bring us back together in that sweet eternal, multigenerational home that my faith tells me is waiting somewhere down the road.

And speaking of Christmas Letters, are you for or against them? I have to say for, but with specific conditions: they should be limited to two pages or less including photos; and they should be directed at close friends and family with whom you have not been able to share the gift of time over the past year. I suppose a third condition might be that they cover major events or life changes, but not offer a blow by blow chronology of the entire year. But hey, that’s just my opinion, and how I approach my letters.

Christmas Letters are important to me because we have close friends and relatives who we rarely have a chance to see or talk with. I treasure those relationships but sometimes I have no way to share just how much they mean to me other than through a letter. The Christmas Letter is my way of reaching out and asking how they are and what important things have happened in their lives over the past year. And it’s my way of answering those same questions I assume they might have of me. Maybe I’m foolish to make that assumption, you know, that someone might actually care about me and my family the way I care for them. So be it; I’ll take that chance because Christmas for me is an affirmation of life and love and family and relationships. Oh, and if you’re friends or relatives who haven’t heard from us at Christmas recently and have been missing that connection then feel free to take me to task for that oversight; I’ve probably screwed up the Christmas Letter list somehow.

Empty nests and Christmas Letters; hmm…what strange bedfellows in the pondering business. Although that peculiar linkage may just get me past the emptiness I’m already starting to feel and warm up the old ticker enough to get me started on this year’s Christmas Letter…Pops

20131202 – Just Wow!

On Sunday afternoon my little suburb made me seriously proud, extremely ecstatic, and appropriately humbled to explore the absolutely beautiful performance spaces and supporting facilities of the new Jenison Center for the Arts. It is without a doubt one of the finest community performing arts centers I have ever been blessed to visit.

There are two groups of people who deserve special recognition for this accomplishment: the students of the Jenison Public Schools who have, through their persistent determination over the years to perform at the caliber deserving of Grammy Award status, demonstrated the need and the demand for a facility capable of supporting their gifts, talents, passions, and energy; and the residents who had the courage and will to invest their hard-earned financial resources in their community.

And let’s not forgot those visionaries whose determination brought this facility to life, who saw this project through, and the more than two dozen West Michigan contractors who contributed their efforts to its successful conclusion.

As I walked from space to space listening to our student guides describe the facilities and share interesting facts about all I could do was say, “Wow!”, lift my jaw off the floor, and again say, “Wow!” There are not adequate superlatives to describe just how remarkable a facility this is. It is destined to become the cornerstone of community pride and a magnet for new economic growth and expansion. I for one can’t wait; and I’m happy to be a resident in and beneficiary of all of the wonderful celebrations of the arts sure to be experienced in this place.

Did I say, “Wow?” Well then, “Wow!” it is…Pops