Christmas: Of Joy and Sorrow

Why is it that Christmas can open a floodgate of emotion?

Memories seem stronger. Highs are higher. Lows are lower.

A universal flood of emotion ranging from the highest of highs to the darkest of lows seems to engulf. Inexplicable grace springs forth, newly unearthed retribution sprouts. A heart's dormant garden suddenly blooms its fruit.

Perhaps it's because our Lord's emotion was poured out on this day of gift giving.

Perhaps, just perhaps, as light was declared to divide the darkness with His utterance, and it shines from that day forth, this day, the day of his firstborn, was declared as His day of emotion. This was our Lord's decreed day of vengeance and forgiveness, anger and happiness, joy and sadness.

Perhaps a flood of mixed emotion is showered upon us during this season.  He loved us and in acting upon that fathomless love, the child He named above all men was sent to us, but not without the knowledge of the unmeasured heartache that both He and His child would pay.

Perhaps during this season we impassionately call Christmas, that emotion still pours out. It rains. It snows. Sprinkles upon all of us.

Perhaps this day is our Lord's one weakspot. Perhaps the remembrance of that day, for Him, causes both a wince and upturned lip.

How possible is it that He has forgotten that day?

I cannot be persuaded that our Lord does not have emotion.

I cannot be moved from the thought that this is both the most glorious of days and the saddest.

How worthy we must be in his eyes.

"I will punish my son that you might go free. My pure son. He has done no wrong. My firstborn. My only."

We've all had that freeze-frame moment. You've had it. Where, for however brief or long, the standstill of time blurts in, stops you in your mind, and you're halted, frozen, overcome by confusing clarity. A breath-taking instant of crystal vision you could not begin to describe to a sane other. A moment you cannot truly explain to yourself. 

It's the Lord's knock on the door of your intellect. And you're stripped of reasoning for a moment. A heaviness in your chest overcomes you and for a measured time you realize the world is larger than you.

It's His tear-bought embrace.

Hold on. Give in.

And then rejoice.

You're in his wings.

Psalms 2012: Children in the Playground

Help, I cried.

And there was no one to hear.

It was a silent voice, I know. A voice expressed in my eyes, a cry in the sag of my shoulders. Who could hear?

Who could decipher what I had, for so long, coded?

Sometimes the thought of giving up on people creeps in.

Sometimes the wonder of the worth of chores and labors of love seep into the once quieted mind's places, and just evaporate.

I wonder what my Lord felt while here on earth. I wonder what it was he felt when here, among us, trying to explain who he was to his creation.

Pain and humiliation began long before the cross.

How blind the blind! How prideful the turned away necks of the self-satisfied.

How satisfied we are with the now. How like children we are, in having the large portion of blocks! 'There are no more than these,' we say, with greedy, scooping arms. 'And there are no more to be had.' Ignorant of how wooden blocks are made.

Blind to the forest beyond where our playground lay.

Who will lead them?

Who will lead me?

No real help comes from men.

Friends offer but sincere condolences. Excuses drip from their lips.

Trust only in hearts turned toward God.

Conversation 4: Snip

Dad was a pruner.  He could be ruthless. He'd hack away at anything he didn't understand, thinking he was shaping a plant. He had this little group of 'shaped' plants sitting in the bay window. Every week or so he'd grab the yellow handled pruning snips and go at them. He called it his window garden. We called it Dad's stick figures.

He'd say, “Pruning's a thing of love, son."

I'd nod. I knew he sincerely loved his plants.

He'd say, "See this little sucker coming off this branch? It’s gotta go." Snip, went the shears, and the new branch fell to the floor.

"Now what?" I'd ask, scratching my head.

"Plant's better off."

"I see," I'd answer, not understanding.

"Something better will grow." he'd clarify.

"What if that sucker was something the plant needed?"

"It wasn't." he'd answer.

"What if it was going to be a strong branch and grow something beautiful on it?"

He'd just look at me.

"Maybe a beautiful flower..." sometimes I persisted.

"Beautiful?" he'd cock his head toward me.

"Yes, something new, different. But beautiful."

"There was no flower in that sucker, son."

"But what if—"

"No, pretty sure there wasn't. I can tell."

"But maybe—"

"Then it'll grow back."

"Why wouldn't you wait—"

"Son, you ask a lot of questions for someone who's never grew a plant."

"I just wondered what would happen if you waited a bit..."

"Waited a bit? Wait? Son, that's the problem with most folks, they wait. Then it's too late. The whole plant gets messed up.  You ever hear of 'nip it in the bud?' It's a law of gardening. You don't wait to prune."

He'd then sweep up the snipped branches and leaves that had fallen to the floor, using a glossy ad insert from last Sunday's paper and dumped the whole thing into the kitchen trash.

"Oh by the way," he one time added. "Your mom tells me you signed up for a new club or something after school."

"The cooking club."

"You ever cook before, son?"

"Well no, that's why I thought—"

"Seems to me a cooking club would be for cookers."

"And people who might to learn to—"

"Doesn't sound like a good idea to me."

"But Dad..."

"Thought you were going to be an artist?"

"Yes, but..."

Snip

Relocating

My brother is coming home soon.
He’s been away visiting Dad.
We’re in the process of relocating,
and he’s been away preparing our new place.
When all is ready,
he’ll come back to pick us up.

He says it’s gorgeous.
That means a lot coming from my brother.
He’s seen a lot.
Good, bad, you name it.
You can count on what he says.

We’re here.
Eagerly waiting,
Preparing to leave.
I can only wonder what lies ahead…
It’ll be a new start.

He’s said be ready.
The move will be quicker than we think.

Praise Instead of Complain

Frustrating day.

Still learning, trying to practice praising my Lord for having brought me through...

Tonight I will thank him instead of bringing my troubles before him. I will tell him I love him rather than ask if he loves me. I will trust him instead of asking him 'why?'

I asked him that yesterday.

He smiled that smile that only loved children know. The tolerant smile that says, 'One day you'll understand.'

His answers don't anger me as much anymore. My patience has slowly grown. 

I'm a dad. I'd love to hear my children, on days that did not go their way, thank me that our home is still here. It would be incredible if they said 'I have no idea what you're doing Dad, but I know you're doing it for me.'

"I know it's been difficult. One day it will all make sense," I'd tell them.

"Today was the worst..."

"Tomorrow's another day, I promise I'll still love you."

There's a beautiful song that I must look up tomorrow. 'Because He Lives.'

Brothers (11 and 12 years old)

Psalm 133:1a, 3b: How good and pleasant it is when brothers live together in unity! ...for there the Lord bestows his blessing, even life forevermore.

“Am not!”

“Are too!  Man, look at you. You mess everything--I mean everything--up!"

"No, I don't..."

Yeah, yeah you do... you're in the way! You’re a fudge-squashed screw-up!”

“No-o-o…”

“I’m warning you, if you mention to Mom anything--and I mean anything--about me kissing Cathy, and that’s it. I swear I’ll beat you everyday for as long as you live.”

“Yeah, right…”

“Oh, no? Don’t believe me? Don't believe me? How ‘bout I start on your face right now?”

“Go ‘head and try…”

“Ah-h-h what’s the use. You'll still be a screw-up. You’ll always be a screw-up. You have no idea what it means to be a man.”

“I’m only eleven...”

“Yeah, you’ll probably always be eleven. You know they mixed you up at the hospital, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t even belong here in this family. The nurse mixed up you and this other kid. Gave mom the wrong one. Ended up giving me the wrong brother…”

“They can’t do that…”

“Oh no? Then how come you’re so weird? How come you’re so scared to do anything? You don’t even have a girl friend yet…”

“That’s not weird.”

“How come you won’t ever do anything for me?”

“I don’t like lying.”

“That’s what I mean. You won’t do anything for me when I ask. You don’t know how to love like a real brother.”

“Why do you ask me to do the wrong thing?

“The wrong thing? The wrong thing? How is keeping me from getting in trouble the wrong thing?”

“Mom said no girl friends ‘til we’re twenty-five.”

“So you want me to get punished?”

“She’s gonna ask me…”

“She’s not gonna ask--.”

“She always asks me…”

“That’s ‘cause you’re a little tattle-tale.”

“I don’t like lying is all.”

“Yeah, well, then I don’t like you. Sounds like you’re gonna get me in trouble again. Sounds like you’re gonna screw everything up for me again. Sounds like you don’t really love me. Sounds like you have no clue about being a man. Real men know when it’s important to lie.”

“I’m only eleven.  And I’m not the one who gets you in trouble.”

“Oh no? Really? Then who gets me in trouble?”

“Why can’t you just wait ‘til you’re twenty-five?”

“—Cause… ‘cause Cathy loves me. What am I supposed to do? It’s not my fault.”

“You’re only twelve—”

“I’m a man, okay. A real man! Don’t forget it. Maybe you’re not and maybe you have no chance of ever being one, but I’m a man and the only question is if Mom asks about Cathy, what are you going to say? Are you gonna tell? Are you? That's what I want to know. That’s the only thing that matters.”

“Why do I have to lie to make you think I love you?”

Conversation 5: Evolution and this thing inside

“Of course there’s evolution, son. How stupid do you have to be to argue against something as plain as the nose on your face as evolution?  Change.  Change, son.  Evolution has nothing to do with fish and birds or monkeys.  Don’t you believe in change?"

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Then you believe in evolution.  Hope, son, it’s all about hope.  Where is your hope? Don’t you know we’re all about to evolve again? Yep, another change is coming.  The big one.”

“I don’t think you’re talking about evolution.  Not in the way….”

“Oh no? What do you call it, mister?”

“I’m not sure but…”

“But nothing.  You think humans are going to be around for ever? You think we got anything to say about it? We don't don't have the last word in this one. You don't think you've got the last word, do you?”

“No, I guess not…”

“There’s something inside you, son.  Inside all of us.  Something living. It’s about to come out.  You’re going to lose that body one day.  It ain’t fit for what’s to come.  Everything will change…”

“That’s more like metamorph—“

“Oh I see.  Now you got a new name for it. Call it what you will, but the big change is coming.”

“So what’s this thing inside us?”

"Can't say for sure. But it's all new, son.  All new.  You'll get yourself a new body. This one won't work no more when the change comes.  I'd like to think my new body's going to be one of them muscular types.  You know, like rippled and such..."

"Really?"

"Yep, that's what I'm thinking..."

"But this thing inside.  What's that?

"You ask a lot of questions son. Some thing's are harder to explain than others.  This thing inside you is alive. It's really not part of your body.  Your body's just sort of holding it together.  It's the part of you that thinks.  And talks.  And feels things--you do feel, don't you, son?"

"Of course."

Well then that's the part of you I'm talking about.  The 'real' you.

"And what happens when it comes out?"

"Son, that's why you'll need a new body."