A while back I wrote a piece about the story of Christmas. Rather than repost here I want to link you to the blog of a dear friend, Rob Carmack. Rob graciously asked me to write a guest post for his blog, and so you'll find the piece at www.robcarmackwords.com.
While you're there be sure to check out Rob's other posts. I love his thought-provoking insights and always learn something.
I'm a few days late offering this, but it will be easy to catch up if you find this useful or interesting. This is an advent countdown of sorts I put together a few years ago. It is composed of texts and thoughts about the themes of advent: anticipation, expectant waiting.
Officially advent began November 29th, 27 days before Christmas. In this countdown I did an entry to read and ponder for each day. The word count or each days's entry reduces by one as you progress through the countdown. For example, on the November 29th entry the number of words is 27. On December 25th, there is just one word.
Nov 29
“But unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of righteousness arise with healing in his wings...” A curtain closes and a 400-year wait begins. (Malachi 4:2)
Nov 30
And the Psalmist’s words resonate. “We see not our signs; there is no more any prophet; neither is there among us any that knoweth how long.” (Psalm 74:9)
Dec 1
But the prophet’s words seemed to carry with them a certain imminence. Are hope and despair endpoints on a common scale that tips with time?
Dec 2
“I’m homesick—longing for your salvation; I’m waiting for your word of hope. My eyes grow heavy watching for some sign of your promise...” (Psalm 119:81-82)
Dec 3
Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun (Here Comes The Sun. The Beatles.)
Dec 4
Waiting as part of community seems more heartening and anticipatory than waiting in solitude, where it can take on a certain dreadfulness.
Dec 5
“To expect too much is to have a sentimental view of life and this is a softness that ends in bitterness.” (Flannery O'Conner)
Dec 6
“All around us we observe a pregnant creation. The difficult times of pain throughout the world are simply birth pangs.” (Romans 8:22a. The Message.)
Dec 7
“The experience of each new age requires a new confession, and the world seems always waiting for its poet.” (Ralph Waldo Emerson)
Dec 8
What was that about being “despised and rejected”? Isn’t that incongruous with the image of the promised redeemer?
Dec 9
Who can pretend to empathize with the nine-month waiting of a pregnant and unmarried, teenage virgin?
Dec 10
Wonder like a child whose expectancy is untainted by the disappointments and broken promises of yesterday.
Dec 11
Did those who were waiting ever picture dirt floors, straw and the smell of animals?
Dec 12
The stuff of expectancy: name choice, nursery colors, and shower registry somehow seem superfluous.
Dec 13
Anticipation can be so sweet when you’ve heard the angel say, “Fear not!”
Dec 14
“These sterile and barren bodies of ours are yearning for full deliverance.” (Romans 8:23)
Dec 15
Fresh bread and rich wine prove the sensory power in anticipation.
Dec 16
Now bread and wine remind us as we wait again.
Dec 17
The poetry of longing: yearning, ache, burning, hunger, thirst
Dec 18
It’s already settled. His name will be Jesus.
Dec 19
Remind us again what the angel promised.
Dec 20
Anticipation’s counterpoint is often-times anxiety.
Dec 21
“Come Thou Long Expected Jesus.” (a hymn by Charles Wesley)
Dec 22
“a Man of Sorrows” (Isaiah 53.3)
Dec 23
Prince of Peace
Dec 24
Birth pains
Dec 25
Incarnation!
In my last post, "Snow Day", I wrote how my view of summer swims and winter snow-fun have changed with the passage of time. I'm not sure I can think of a more picturesque timeline of aging than the roles we play at Thanksgiving.
At sixty-something, I've moved from the kids table to very near the far opposite end of the long table. You know the continuum I'm talking about: Five minutes in to the meal the little kids are off to play after having not "eaten enough to keep a bird alive." The next generation are off in a corner with the earbuds in, texting their equally bored friends at family gatherings everywhere. Those that can (and a few who shouldn't) head outside for touch football.
Then there's our end of the table. We're still at the table, covering deep subjects: how many MPGs we got on the drive over, how this could be the last Thanksgiving now that ObamaCare is the law of the land, the roll-call of all those we know who have had joint replacements and other surgeries (pass that giblet gravy).
Speaking of giblet gravy: there's a reason that the offal comes in a separate bag when you buy a turkey--so you can throw it away. Don't put it in the gravy or dressing or anything else people might consume.
The "offal", btw, is a collective term for the liver, gizzard and other viscera; also known as the "guts" or "innards". I'm guessing the derivative of the word might be that someone looked at a pile of innards and said what should we call this? The unanimous opinion was "awful" but it was misheard.
While on the subject of food, which obviously is the star of the Thanksgiving production, and speaking of ingredients that shouldn't be added: my Amazing-Missus' family has a tradition of adding oysters to the dressing. It's a dish that's been on the table at each Thanksgiving we've celebrated together in our 41 years of marital bliss. I don't know that I've ever seen anyone actually eat it. Oh they'll courteously put a glob on their plate, but I've never heard anyone say, "Pass me some more of that oyster dressing!"
I'm glad it's on the table though because it serves the role of all good traditions--it connects the generational dots, it keeps the narrative going, it helps us remember. I know that someone will look at the spread of food and say, "Oh, here's the oyster dressing. Granddad loved oyster dressing." Granddad is the great-great-great grandfather of those who are the youngest of our Thanksgiving gathering and though he has been gone for many years, he's still part of the story.
You might say he's still "at the table" albeit the far, far end from the kid's table. That's what I want--to always have a place at the table.
Maybe someone will say, "Here's the green bean casserole. Wasn't it that crazy Uncle, what was his name, who loved green bean casserole?"
Oh, FYI: The green bean casserole was first created in 1955 by the Campbell Soup Company. Dorcas Reilly led the team that created the recipe while working as a staff member in the home economics department. The inspiration for the dish was "to create a quick and easy recipe around two things most Americans always had on hand in the 1950s: green beans and Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom Soup." --Wikipedia
When it comes to snow days, I've reached my tipping point.
There are a lot of tipping point moments for us "men of a certain age." I believe it's one of the ways you know you're in your second-coming-of-age.
I'm borrowing "tipping point" from physics where it refers to the adding a small amount of weight to a balanced object until the additional weight causes the object to suddenly and completely topple, or tip. I'm using it metaphorically to talk about life's little, necessary transitions.
For example, I was one of those kids who would have spent every summer hour swimming if I could. We lived within walking distance of the Arkansas river in south Tulsa. However, our parents sought to instill in us a deadly fear of quicksand that would swallow us whole in order to keep us from swimming in the river. Fortunately, my Aunt Betty had access to a pool and would take us for a swim most every day.
Over the years though, the appeal of the pool has lost its luster. It happened gradually with little things: it's too cool, it's too hot. The water will be too cold. I just "did" my hair. I can't find my trunks. Little by little the appeal of dry land took over until the scales tipped. Now I only go in if the grand girls insist on a swim and I'm one of the few adults available. I still enjoy it once I'm in the water, but...
Snow days are like that. I used to get giddy with excitement when our local "the sky is falling" weatherpersons would forecast snow. Now, not so much. I still love to see the results of fun in the snow: snowpeople, igloos, pictures of people sledding, etc. But I'll be the one inside making sure the fire is stoked and the hot cocoa is made for those that come in near frost-bitten from the fun.
A shot I took recently in downtown St. Louis.
Tomorrow, say the meteorologists, the big one is coming. People are emptying grocery store shelves, laying up provisions like we live in Fargo or something. I'm on that side of the fulcrum now that's not too fired up about the promise of new fallen snow.
Our snow-loving boys built an igloo a few Christmases back. They finished it long after dark. The next morning Mimi, Karlee & Pops made a visit.
