Sock it to me Jesus

They were working fine....

Friend!

Has it been a good week?  I was thinking about you last night as I decorated our Christmas tree.  We were a tad late in purchasing one this year but it is very nice to have a Christmas tree in the house again.  

We pulled the decorations out of the garage and set to work.  Each year I am faced with a mystery.  In January, when the tree is taken down, I check the light strands, coil them and place them gingerly in a plastic bin.  The mysterious part is why these lights never work when I take them out of the bin 11 months later.  I simply don’t understand.  Sure enough, two strands of last years lights no longer worked.  I didn't  touch them so how did they break?  To make things even more perplexing, only ½ of a carefully stored snowflake light strand was working.  The first half lit up, the second half refused to come out of hibernation. Why? What am I doing wrong? 

When I voice my amazement at the darker side of Christmas light storage, my man gives me a lecture about how the lights are not made to last, poor quality…ya da ya da…. only three dollars…ya ya ya.  He feels it is his annual duty to deal with my vexation. I’ve heard it all before but it still makes me cross. 

Worse yet, I can't throw out an almost functional set of Christmas lights! It’s so wasteful I can’t stand it.  I think about the reams of lights in landfills, sitting there, not decomposing.  I worry dreadfully that some duck named Bernice is going to happen across my Christmas lights from 2001 and get them stuck around her feet.  Granted, for the first few days she might view them as an upscale ankle bracelet, but what happens when Bernice needs to fly somewhere and is entangled in my lights from Christmas past?  It haunts me.  

So much so, that a few years ago, instead of throwing out a broken strand of lights like my hubby told me too, I hid in the garage and chopped the entire green strand into two inch pieces. For nearly 6 months my family had indestructible twist ties on their bag lunches.  They couldn’t figure out where I had purchased such satanic home supplies. I couldn’t tell them.  My guy doesn’t need to know everything about the woman he married.  Sometimes, you need to cope alone.

It was a blessing therefore, to hand off the Christmas lights to my teens, effectively removing myself from my annual Christmas light angst.*   I sat on the sofa watching the girls work until my little one handed me one of my Christmas treasures.  Most families in my world have a favorite nativity.  A couple of my friends even collect them, which is an admirable if not space consuming endeavor.  Carved olive wood from Jerusalem, stone pieces from Bethlehem, treasures handed down from Grandma, these nativity pieces are steeped in symbolism and meaning.  A cultural cornucopia of Christian Christmas symbolism. 

The Jesus from my nativity….not so much.

Behold, sock Jesus

Yep.  That’s a sock Jesus. In case you were wondering.  

This masterpiece was brought home by a 3 year old, who placed it gently under my Christmas tree.  I will save the story for another day.  All you need to know is that I madly love this sock Jesus.

Last week I confessed I often want a Santa Jesus.  I thought this week we could talk about sock Jesus because He is in high demand these days.  Sock Jesus is an easy going fellow who smiles sweetly at most things - well, everything really.  As long as you are happy and I am happy, sock Jesus has nothing much to say.  Sin becomes irrelevant which is too bad because the fact He condescended to enter this mess is significant.  However, sock Jesus doesn’t worry much about sin because he’s too busy being happy with everyone for everything. 

Truth isn’t important to sock Jesus either.  As long as we agree to get along, truth isn’t needed.  You can tweet what you like and make up your own reality as you go.  Sock Jesus doesn’t tweet because of the whole lack of arms thing, but if he did he would mostly tweet pictures of craft projects.  Sock Jesus doesn't challenge you like your  friends who speak the truth in hard times, love you in the pit and hold you accountable.  Friends like that don’t smile like He does, they’re too busy trying to enforce some warped form of altruistic legalism on a grace filled world.  

All in all, sock Jesus is pretty great, unless you find yourself in a world where souls break, people hurt and life goes wrong.  When that happens all sock Jesus can do is cover up stinky things, like funny looking feet.  You need Emmanuel when life gets hard.  “God with us” is the way to get through when you unpack some broken items in your Christmas box.    

So I’m praying for any broken things you might encounter this month my friend. That as you seek to accommodate a less than perfect Christmas, you will experience the real Jesus.  The one who can forgive you in your sinfulness, comfort you in your pain and bring you joy despite your sorrow.  

I’m thinking of you this week,

xoxKaren

* Totally untrue, I’ve hidden the broken lights so they can’t be thrown out. I’m trying to figure out what to do with 60 plastic snowflake light covers.          

The Perfect Fit

Seating for 14! Let the table setting begin!

It was Tuesday before I realized what I had done.  Fortunately, I cancelled every appointment scheduled, in order to prepare for Thanksgiving. I awoke to a to-do list which equaled the depth of my laundry pile.  After an unsuccessful quiet time, wherein I supposedly focused on the Lord to find peace, I apologized to Jesus, poured myself a cup of tea and looked around my home.  The entire house was catawampus. The bible verse "Jesus wept" sprang immediately to mind as I surveyed the destruction.  Congratulating myself for being so spiritually minded, I walked into my dining area.

The space is about 10’ ½ by 9’ ½ , walled with 2 entrance points.  It was constructed long before the “open concept” kitchen was born.  I loved the room, but that morning as I wrote down the names of my guests, I wondered how everyone was going to fit.  Fourteen people needed to sit at the table.  Mine sat eight.  I needed seating for six more.  Looking around my dining room, I wondered how to pull this off.  I chewed my pencil.  “Jesus wept,” My subconscious quoted.  I rebuked myself.  I looked at the list.  I was missing something.  I reviewed the names again, when it dawned on me.  Half of my dinner guests were 6’ or taller.  “Jesus is weeping,” my subconscious quoted, changing the form in order to make scripture more applicable.  I groaned, stood up and called my girls for a family meeting.

I explained the challenge before us.  We sipped our tea, brain stormed and prayed.  “Lord Jesus, there is no way for this to work.  Have mercy and help us. Show us how to get this done, because it’s impossible.”  As the girls set to work cleaning, I texted my nearest and dearest to ask for chairs and a card table.  One girl friend directed me to another, as I had stolen her extra folding chairs earlier that week.  Girlfriend two had the card table and I whipped out to pick it up, as well as extra chairs because she has so many I feel obligated to borrow them. 

When I returned, the dining room was cleared.  My girls know how to get things done.  We had a blank canvas for Jesus’ coming miracle of spatial orientation.  For the next two hours, we shuffled card tables and chairs in an attempt to gain extra seating space.  As fatigue increased, we were less willing to listen to each other’s suggestions.  We began talking over each other and squabbling broke out.  I was feeling pretty desperate.  I considered seating guests in two rooms, when one of the girls reminded me “God could do it.”  I sent up another prayer, “Lord help.  Honestly, we are so stuck.”  It was lame but it was all I had.  Setting back to work, I kept my mouth shut and allowed the kids to take a turn at directing.  Five minutes later my 14 yr old struck gold.  “What about if we shift the table this way?” She asked.  We looked at each other in stunned silence.  Suddenly, the room placement fell together.    The miracle of seating fourteen was suddenly made possible.  As we placed chairs and name cards, I was gripped with pleasure.  Granted, we had swapped traditional seating placement for a funky café style affair, but it was done.   I sang an impromptu ode to our greatness and thanked the Lord profusely. 

That evening, as my daughters downloaded their day with Dad, I considered how long it took to us to reach our goal.  We had planned, measured and done everything  to make the chairs fit, but the experience of moving furniture around the space was essential for success.  Success couldn’t be separated from the hard work.  Our breakthrough wouldn’t have come without 2 full hours of highly organized failure.    

Are you any good at thanking the Lord for the process my friend?  Or do you, like me, get exasperated easily?  Somewhere in my carnal nature is a hard wired circuit.  I believe if I pray and ask God for help, answers should drop from the sky like rain.  At times I have no understanding why God doesn’t answer my questions simply.  I put my name on the prayer chain, why did it take me 3 months to find a good doctor?   My small group prayed for my budget, why couldn’t I find the best refinancing deal possible?  We prayed and researched getting a new car and bought a lemon, why didn’t you tip me off?  These questions and a million more betray my heart.  I want what I ask for without a fuss.  Am I sounding like a spoiled beast yet?  

I want a Santa God.

As the holiday season unfolds, I’m asking for conviction.  Straight up repentance for the subtle ways I’m out to get from God, trying to bend Him to my will, as opposed to engaging in the relationship he offers. And I’ll be thinking of you my friend, as you encounter problems along your pathway.  That you will stay patient as the pieces shift, kind as you work with those around you, and able to endure until you discover the resolution He has planned.

I’m praying for you this week,

xoxKaren 

A Camel in a Crisis

Curley, the awesome camel

Hello Friend!

I did get your message and yes, I’ve been absent lately.  I apologize.  Since September, I’ve found myself in a peculiar season of transition.  Have you ever felt like your life doesn’t fit?  No matter what I do, I fight a sense of things being incomplete.  Add election madness and the death of Leonard Cohen and you have a Canadian mid-life crisis in the making.  It’s hard to write when tears have taken up residence behind your eyelids.  I’m never quite certain when I will set myself off.  The other day I was talking to a dear soul who is sending her daughter off on her first mission trip sans Mama.  The conversation turned into a counseling session wherein I had to be glued back together because the enormity of children growing up and leaving home just about swallowed me whole.  After presenting myself as a functional yet completely unhinged adult, I went home and considered joining a book club.  I came to my senses a few hours later and decided I needed to take a break.  Which is why, this week, I’m leaving behind all the stress and brokenness to focus on camels.

Sensible yes?

I love camels.

My favorite camel is a fellow named Curley.  In truth, he’s the only camel I’m in contact with these days.  He shows up in a local nursery every Christmas season and when he does, I go out of my way to visit him. Many times.  Frequently.  I first met Curley in 2013.  Life at that time was saturated in despair.  My family got caught up in the economic downturn and was one of the last to recover.  Loss, grief, death, perseverance and the mystery of unanswered prayer created a thick cloud over my family which was difficult to penetrate.  My only respite was found when I left the flat to woggle.  (Not running, not jogging, more an attempt at self-propulsion in an oxygen deprived state.)  For those moments, trying to breathe replaced the gloom.  On an afternoon run, when I had gotten myself well and truly lost, I happened across a nursery that had dressed up for Christmas.  Curious, I wandered inside.   

My visit to this garden center was a gift given at exactly the right time.  I walked inside and found refuge from the confusion that was my life.  With benches everywhere, I was able to sit outside and enjoy the trees and lights, people and peace without needing to interact with anyone directly.  After half an hour of wandering, I found myself by the edge of a coy pond when a young child walked by and told her mother she was ready to visit the camel.  Given that camels are not a regular sight in Seattle, I followed the pink, fleece-clad tour guide, to catch a glimpse of him.  

It’s hard to explain the next half hour.

There, in a hay covered stall stood Curley.  Camels are very large creatures and He was majestic.  At that moment he was holding court.  His minions, excited toddlers, were given pieces of brown bread to feed to his Majesty, should he stoop down to their level to accept their offerings: which he did.  If the whole experience had been about watching a camel eat bread, I might have tired of the affair.  Thankfully, it was so much more.  Curley was a camel with attitude.  A discerning eye might have caught the warning sign, stating that Curley had reach.  To be frank, camels have amazing mouths.  Their top lip is spit and both halves work independently to enable the camel to grasp his food.  Or in this case, slices of bread as well as the hats, scarves and mittens of small children.  The child would offer the bread, Curley would bend down to take it slowly, the child would then turn to mother and squeal with delight, at which point Curley would take full advantage of any unprotected body part to try to munch off any accessory he could get his mouth on.  The end result would be a shouting toddler, a laughing mother and a smug looking camel.  

It was delightful.  For that half hour, my darkness stood back as I watched Gods' creation on display.  A strangely shaped behemoth in need of an attitude adjustment, trying to steal hats from children.  The sheer silliness of it was balm to my frayed heart.    

As we launch into Thanksgiving and Christmas, my prayer for you dear friend, is that God would pierce the area that causes you despair.  There are many, many things wrong with our world today.  Few feel comfortable with the state of society on our small planet.   If we will set our hearts and minds towards thankfulness in the midst of a broken world, we will be more able to see and receive blessings.  It might be a simple visit from a loved one, a precious moment of clarity with a mind clouded by disease, or a ridiculous moment with a family pet.  These blessings, when strung together, have seen many a soul through dark and frightening times.

So I wish you a thoughtful Thanksgiving my friend.  That the Lord would give you the gift of a thankful heart.  A thankful heart is a good vehicle.  Like a camel, a thankful heart can navigate dry lands, steep hills and a tiresome journey.   It has the ability to go the distance with little support and encouragement.  But most importantly, a thankful heart is an oasis to those who are travelling on a broken road toward home.

I’m praying for you this week,

xoxKaren