WORD

IF THERE ARE WORDS for this I'm not sure I can find them. Words are powerful. Words are peaceful. Words are honest and dishonest. They shape lies and truth. They heal and hurt. Whoever said, "Sticks and stones... but words can never hurt me," is full of [insert a couple of words here, or is it a compound word?]

How is it that for certain people, to be able to say: "what's-on-his-mind", it’s like a virtue or a license. "He just tells it like it is," seems to require that we let him off the hook for any affect the words might have.

Sometimes words can fall on deaf ears or they can be put into someone elses mouth. They can be misheard, unheard, misspoken, miscontrued or misunderstood.

Ever have to eat your words? On at least one occasion I had my mouth washed out with Lava brand soap by my grandmother for using a word that I'm pretty sure I had heard her use.

It's Christmastime. Time to remember Jesus was called The Word, that he existed in the beginning and that "the Word became human and made his home among us. He was full of unfailing love and faithfulness. And we have seen his glory, the glory of the Father’s one and only Son." John 1:14

That event actually happened. In flesh, bone and blood. It happened in a part of the world that is now strewn with flesh, bone and blood, in Gaza; less than 50 miles--away in a manger--where according to the song, the babe lay his sweet head.

When I think of the Nativity, the words of that heavy, heavy question in Lamentations comes to mind: “Does it mean nothing to you, all you who pass by?"

This is where it gets tricky for me. I am not one of those with a license to tell it like I see it. When I try, it seems I hurt feelings, alienate and infuriate. So I write these words cautiously and with trepidation. I should know how to do this. Back in school, I took and passed with flying colors a class called "Rhetoric".

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rhetoric
noun
--speech or writing intended to be effective and influence people
--the study of the ways of using language effectively

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This week, I went to the doctor for my annual check-up. I'm on Medicare now so the process is a little different. I had to complete a questionnaire. One section read something like: Do you ever feel sad, afraid, angry, etc.?

I started to impulsively check YES, but I was afraid my doctor might suggest a new pill, or support group. The tip of my pin drifted toward the NO square like a pointer pulling fingers across a Ouija board, but I couldn't mark NO. So, I checked YES and quickly prepared a sane and sensible explanation, words to ensure my doc and old friend that I had it all under control.

The fact is I do feel all of those things--not all the time, and I also feel happy, hopeful, courageous, and other good things. Maybe it has something to do with my age and emotional state, but I'm blaming most of the sad/afraid/angry stuff on the current state of things. I am so sick of cutural meanness, of dehumanizing speech, of the-end-justifies-the-means politics and religion. I'm depressed from the hostile takeover of christianity by far right fundamentalists. Their message of saving the soul of America while waving a banner stitched of their own power-greedy arrogance is demoralizing to me. They march lockstep behind people who demand loyalty to their ungodly authoritarianism. They claim to be doing all of this in answer to a call to follow the WORD-become-flesh, the one of whom the Apostle Paul wrote:

Is there any encouragement from belonging to Christ? Any comfort from his love? Any fellowship together in the Spirit? Are your hearts tender and compassionate? Then make me truly happy by agreeing wholeheartedly with each other, loving one another, and working together with one mind and purpose.

Don’t be selfish; don’t try to impress others. Be humble, thinking of others as better than yourselves. Don’t look out only for your own interests, but take an interest in others, too.

You must have the same attitude that Christ Jesus had.

Though he was God,
he did not think of equality with God
as something to cling to.
Instead, he gave up his divine privileges;
he took the humble position of a slave
and was born as a human being.

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Maybe this year makes next year seem particularly fraught and fragile. It seems like fascists are strikingly stirred up. Ukraine, the Middle East, the environment, political hard-lining here at home, the border, the sensitive and growing situation of homeless camped along Main street of the town where we live.

Maybe it's actually just another year. Maybe there's been worse. Surely there's been better. I remember well Christmastime 1971. My mom's heart was breaking from the weight of it. The war in Vietnam was dragging on and on. Student deferments from the military draft had ended and I had my draft lottery number. One day I got home and was met by my mom with a letter addressed to me from the Selective Service System. She was literally shaking. I opened it to find that my number, 116, from the 1970 lottery had come up. I was to meet a bus in downtown Tulsa just before Christmas to travel to OKC to take a physical for conscription.

It was a horrible Christmas for her, but 1972 brought better days. The war waned and I didn't have to go after all. In June 1972, I married my Amazing-Missus, whom Mom dearly loved. What a difference a day or a few make.

It's Christmas Eve, 2023. I am leaning on promises. The same promises born with that little baby so long ago. Promises for peace, for justice, for deliverance. To borrow a few words from John Lennon:

“You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one.”

Merry Christmas.

GRAND GIFTS

MAYBE YOU’RE HEARD the prescription for gift-giving:

Something they want
Something they need
Something to wear
Something to read

One of our Grand-Girls found a present, wrapped, with a tag bearing her name under our pitiful little tree. (So pitiful in fact that one of our Grand-Guys asked why we didn't have a Christmas tree. "We do." I said, "That's it right there." He looked at it, then looked at me and smiled as if I might be joking.) Anyway, the aforementioned Grand-Girl asked me if I wrapped it. No. Mimi does all the wrapping. I do the shopping.

"Do you know what it is?" she asked. I told her I did know because I'm the one who chose it. "Will I like it?"

I started to explain to her that is not one of the criteria of gift-giving. I googled and googled and couldn't fine any version of the list that said: "Something they like." That's too fleeting and subjective. I'm their Pops, not a mindreader.

I simply said, "I hope so. If you don't, there's probably a little girl somewhere who would love to have it."

She laughed and said, "That's kinda mean." What do you expect from a 70-something old man trying to guess what an 9-year old would want? [BTW: I went with something from Barbie world. I figure I can't go too wrong, right?] I hope each of the Grands will say, "This is just what I wanted!"

Next up: SOMETHING THEY NEED. We'll be taking the whole crew to my favorite Thai food place. Obviously everyone NEEDS food. They may not see it as much of a gift, but it is. The food there is wonderful, every single time. The people who own and run the business take such pride in the whole experience. We each NEED a memorable meal around a warm table.

SOMETHING TO WEAR. Check.

Each kid gets pajamas that match (whether they want to or not). And this year, there's an extra item in the category. Something everyone should have. Maybe I'll share a picture in a future post.

SOMETHING TO READ.

Traditionally this one has been my favorite. But there are no books under the tree this year. Not because I don't want them to read and read and read, but because I can't remember what books I've given them in the past. I'm pretty sure each of our kid's houses have a copy of the books I most want our kids to read and love. That list includes (in no certain order):

GOOD NIGHT MOON
THE CAT IN THE HAT
GOOD NIGHT, GORILLA
MAKE WAY FOR DUCKLINGS
CORDUROY
THE MONSTER AT THE END OF THIS BOOK
MADELINE
STUART LITTLE
THE VELVETEEN RABBIT
WHERE THE SIDEWALK ENDS
THE GIVING TREE
CHARLOTTE'S WEB
THE LION, THE WITCH, AND THE WARDROBE
HARRY POTTER AND THE SORCERER'S STONE
A WRINKLE IN TIME
THE OUTSIDERS
TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD

Maybe it's time for them to choose a book themselves. One that intrigues them, something other than what's on Pops' list of classics. Sounds like we need to make a trip to the bookstore--something that should be on our list every year.

HARK!

FOR THE MOST PART I was a pretty good attention-payer. Occasionally, a teacher or other authority figure would ask, “Are you paying attention?” It was a legitimate question. I’m a daydreamer. A blank stare off into space could cause someone to question if a daydreamer is paying attention.

HADDI’S SNOWPERSONS CREATIONS

That’s a weird figure of speech, isn’t it: paying attention? I did a bit of research to see if I could find an origin; not much luck. It almost sounds like a currency of courtesy. Let’s say one of your grandchildren is going into deep detail about how she solved the Wordle puzzle in three guesses and why it took you six. Out of respect for this grandchild, and her uncanny ability to solve word puzzles, you pay her with respect by giving her your attention. [This is the grandchild who can’t watch “Wheel of Fortune” without losing her mind, yelling the puzzle answer at the TV while questioning the intelligence of the players, “These people are adults! How can they not see the answer?!”]

Grandkids want even more than our full and undivided attention. I use an email address from time to time that is a line I've heard often from them: hey.pops.hey@gmail.com. If someone sends me an email using that address, I can't help but pay attention.

Attention-paying is obviously a trait we want to develop in our young. It’s essential to civil discourse which is drying up and blowing away in our current culture. There’s a risk though. What parent hasn’t had one of those experiences where you discover that your child WAS paying attention when it might have been better if they weren’t. Here’s one of my favorite anecdotes:

True story. Dear friends of ours told me this story about an event at their church. This is one of those churches where a brave pastor calls the little children to the front of the church for a “children’s sermon”. One Sunday morning the pastor welcomed the kids. A little girl asked the pastor what he thought of her new dress. “It’s lovely!” he said. And, she replied, “Thank you. My Mom says it’s a real bitch to iron.”

If you’re a pastor, PAY ATTENTION. What she was saying is, “Please study hard, make every word of your sermon count, don’t waste our time. We’ve made effort and sacrifices to be here.” At least that’s my interpretation; sometimes paying attention allows us to read between the lines.

Paying attention seems grueling sometimes. Now we’re supposed to “pay attention to our bodies”, we’re supposed to stay “weather-aware”, we’re supposed to be vigilant of scammers and scoundrels. Look both ways before you cross the street. There are parking bumpers hiding in the cold, wet, wintry night. Pay attention or you could trip over one and be left wondering if your ribs will ever be the same again.

It’s tiring and it seems so inner-focused. Maybe that’s why it’s so difficult to pay attention to those around us, we’ve nothing left to pay. Our attention capacity is at a deficit or overdrawn. How about us? Is anyone paying attention to us?

I’ve decided it’s impossible to bankrupt your attention capacity because paying attention can be energizing, fulfilling, even life-giving. Let me offer a few examples: I have friends who are amazing photographers, technically and aesthetically. It is like their visual radar is on all the time. They see lighting, perspective, subtility, color, depth of field, composition in a way us mere-mortals don’t. It’s the same with musicians and poets. They hear melodies, harmonies, and feel rhythms. They understand life in moods, modes, points and counterpoints.

As a hobby-writer I have discovered I pay attention more, and deeper when I'm in a writing groove. I'm always questioning: what's behind that, why is it, when, where, ifs, ands, and buts. Discovery is so exhilarating and it happens when we're paying attention.

“If a work of art is rich and vital and complete, those who have artistic instincts will see its beauty, and those to whom ethics appeal more strongly than aesthetics will see its moral lesson. It will fill the cowardly with terror, and the unclean will see in it their own shame.” — Oscar Wilde

Our Grand-Girl, Nora, is an attention-payer. Not only does she listen with the curiousity of an old woman sitting under the hair dryer at the beauty shoppe, she will stare a hole, picking up quirky body language, nuance and stuff.

NORA. PAYING INTENSE ATTENTION.

There's a coffee house in our town that Nora and I visit from time to time. One day we were sitting enjoying coffee and hot cocoa. She carried her mug to a sofa in the corner and sat, looking, studying. Then she moved to the window seat and tried it out. Then she moved to a table toward the back where students were sitting with laptops open, staring at their phones.

Finally, she returned to our table and offered this:

"I really like the aestetics of this place. Karlee (her oldest sister, the one with her own bedroom), has good aestetics. Harper (her next oldest sister, with whom she shares a bedroom), thinks that when Karlee goes to college she's going to get her bedroom. I told her that when Karlee goes to college she's going to pack up all of her aestetics and take them with her."

I didn't say anything. I just paid attention. That's what she wanted: my attention, not an opinion or comment, just attention.

These days you might hear a certain song playing. I'm not talking about that Mariah Carey song. We're likely to hear that one several times a day. The one I'm talking about says, "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing".

Hark is a word that means pay attention. This song is about a story, recorded in Luke chapter 2 of the Bible:

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.

And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.

And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

On earth peace and good will. Yes, please. In the midst of the season, the busy-ness, the chaos. I need to remind myself to pay attention. Friday we went to Hinton to watch three of the Grands in the school Christmas program. I paid attention and it was beautiful. After the program, Haddi, the oldest Grand-Girl of our Hinton crew wanted to show me what she's been making. (She is an amazing maker.) She showed me a box of little snowpeople she's made from socks she stuffs with rice. The picture above is two of her collection. She explained how she makes them and her marketing strategies. I paid attention and was so proud of her.

My Christmas wish for and yours: go out there and do some harking!