Christmas – BethSings

Gurgle

The house is quiet again but echos with the laughter and talking that filled it a few days ago. Not unlike others, our family gathered to celebrate.

Celebrate a birth. Celebrate our love for each other.

The last week has been a whirlwind of cooking, eating, visiting with loved ones far and near. Their presence, whether by walking in the door or a phone call or card was a gift in itself.

On Christmas Day a wave of sentimentality hit me, a brief moment of melancholy.

Call it desire, wanting a little more, instead of being satisfied with what we have. Missing those who are absent is human nature. My son’s words grounded me. The sentiment was fleeting. Generations, family and friends gathered at our table….some present, some in spirit. The days spent together were as splendid as the feast.

This year there was a new addition at our table: a whimsical fish pitcher from my childhood best friend, Leslie. At each meal we giggled as we poured water. It wasn’t until a few days after Christmas that I discovered the story.

The ‘gurgle pot’ was the creation of artist Matthew Ellison inspired by his travel to a small French village for his brother’s wedding. There were no hotels so all of the guests stayed with host families. His spoke no English and he spoke no French so conversation was awkward and challenging. A saving grace at meals was a fish-shaped pitcher that gurgled with each pour. …what a wonderful connection. Laughter. Listening. Whimsy. Trusting communication in all it’s forms on the journey.

In retrospect, 2015 has been a year of similar connections: lightbulbs in deep grace and dark journeys on long days. Listening for a gurgle.

Blessings. Births. Graduations. Weddings. Illness. Deaths.

Maneuvering day-to-day living. Connecting to the gurgle of those we hold dear. Finding the way to connect to them in a meaningful way. Not our way, but the best way.

Gratitude for it all.

In this coming new year, may your connections gurgle…simply with love, and abundantly.

These Are That Day

And how could we endure to live and let time pass if we were always crying for one day or one year to come back–if we did not know that every day in a life fills the whole life with expectation and memory and that these are that day?
C. S. Lewis

I’ve started this one more than once. Some in my head, in traffic. Some lying in bed—early morning, late at night. Walking to work. In the shower. Finally at the computer.

Like the proverbial light bulb, something hit me.

Expecting. Anticipating. Waiting Counting days. Whether we use candles, games or in the silence of our hearts.

Waiting for….a miracle.

Fifty-six years ago tonight my parents had been playing a waiting game. The eight years between my brother’s birth and my adoption. My uncle’s untimely death. Ordinary days. Extraordinary days. Wondering, waiting, hoping and praying. ….every day in a life fills the whole life with expectation….My family were such people.

A drive to Shreveport, a family is changed. I was changed. Everything is changed…

by love….

by the gift of patient waiting.

Over these December weeks I’ve focused on giving of self rather than something that can be wrapped and tied with a bow. My parents’ ninety mile journey that December was such a selfless act….

but others also show such acts…..parents, children, friends, strangers.

Last weekend, the A Capella caroling group I sing with had the opportunity to sing for the residents of one of our local retirement communities. It was a lovely morning singing carols and Hanukkah songs as well as celebrating the 97th birthday of one of the long-time arts supporters. As we were wrapping up someone tapped me on the shoulder, asking if one of us could sing a carol in his mother’s room. We all went.

Voices of all ages filling a room. A son gently holding and caressing a hand that had once cradled him…

Silent Night. Holy Night. Sleep in heavenly peace.

…..every day in a life fills the whole life with expectation and memory and that these are that day……

Connection. Gift. Selfless……Love’s pure light.

My take-away is this: miracles aren’t the same as magic.

Miracles are found in ordinary things like oil or a baby, a song you’ve sung thousands of times, sharing time with family and friends. The gift, at least for me this year, is to remember how extraordinary ordinary is….then to wait for it…

in gratitude….. for each day…

Waitin’

Angel ornament made in 1995 by my daughter, Sarah from pine tree that stood in front of St. Aloysius Church. The trees were ‘repurposed’ by the kindergarten classes when our new church was built.

Kraslice ornament from trip to Prague in 2011. The eggs are a sign of blessing. I brought back a dozen and only lost one in transport.

One of two of my mother’s antique surprise balls that she had as a child…c. 1920-1930’s. One of my favorite ornaments since childhood.

004 — Each year for twenty years the Sisters that lived at St. Aloysius, the Daughters of Jesus gave me a dove Christmas ornament. It was bittersweet to put those ornaments on the tree after they returned to Spain. All but one of those lovely ladies are singing in the heavenly choir. Each, in their unique way, taught me about peace…and that ‘God is crazy about me’.

006 — We decorate our tree the third Sunday of Advent – with one exception. The year my daughter was born she was baptized on the first Sunday of Advent. I wanted my son to feel a part of the process so he and made the ornaments then decorated the tree with baby’s breath and lavender. It was one of the prettiest trees I remember.

008 — This ornament was a gift from a long-time friend, colleague and member of a prayer group we’ve both belonged to for nearly twenty-five years. It is from the Cathedral of St. Joseph in Baton Rouge and not only reminds me of a place that has become my home but also of other “homes” and the dear friends along the journey: Monroe and Shreveport.

Waitin waitin
I’ve been waitin
Waitin waitin all my life.

That light keeps on hiding from me,
But it someday just might bless my sight.
Waitin waitin waitin

William Bolcom ~ from Cabaret Songs Volume 1

010 — My first ‘adult’ ornament. 1980. It’s always the third ornament on the tree after my mother’s surprise ornaments. From longtime friend Diane Statham.

002 — New ornament this year from ‘first friend’ and blood sister. Most call her Terri but she’ll always be Leslie to me, a gift.

No big secret that I enjoy traditions especially when it comes to holidays. Traditions are what keep us connected. Some years I’ve considered getting new ornaments but those decorations are a walk with friends. Priceless.

Today, as I made Christmas Eve gumbo, surrounded by these ornaments, waiting for family to arrive I remembered the wonder and delight I felt as an expectant mother. Not unlike Mary and Joseph’s expectant waiting.

Waiting in the midst of traditions. Gifts of grace. Reminders of blessings traveled and will continue to travel in peace and joy.

Merry Christmas!

Finding Crème Brûlée

It’s been nearly a year since I began this photo-journal blog adventure. It started as a thank you to my adult children after last Christmas: to my son Patrick for his thoughtful gift, a new camera; to my daughter Sarah for her advice as a photographer and blogger. Each time I’ve held the camera my life quietens in prayer for them and for what surrounds me; for those–near and for—who I keep close. It has been a wild ride….filled with fun and adventure. At fifty-five that seems appropriate.

Like most people, these weeks before Christmas are busy with mundane balanced with preparations for the coming holiday. I learned long ago to take an inventory of values and expectations during this season. Traditions are important. . . well, at least to me they are. Name the day and time, keep it. Stay in the moment and enjoy it. All of that was very helpful raising two children. Keep It Simple Silly

Over the last week I’ve been preparing my daughter’s bedroom for a holiday spruce up. The renovation was a long-time coming. This transformation seemed to erase her childhood in my mind. With a few strokes exuberant, innocent hot pink became crème brûlée. She’s an adult. It was time.

As I was moving furniture, etc. I found what I thought was memorabilia that Sarah had been saving. Not so much! Mostly empty bags from shopping excursions she and I had taken together over the years when she had been home during holidays and summers. Lovely memories. At the bottom was a HUGE box.

My daughter has lived on her own for the past six years–all over the world. I do have some of her things in storage but I couldn’t imagine what was in it. I saw the box, smiled and laughed out loud.

Sarah had been studying in Prague, living there for a year. At the end of the year I joined her in Prague to pack up her apartment, travel a little then back to the states. There was a year’s worth of life to collect. Her suitcases broke; we bought new ones in Vienna. The image of our parade of suitcases on the tiny streets of Salzburg still makes me smile. On a cold, wet June day we decided to ship two LARGE YELLOW boxes back, praying clothes, books, worldly possessions would find their way home. Neither of us could part with the boxes. Seeing them reminded me of adventures with both of my ‘children’….and the promise of future adventure….for them and for me. It is, after all, our tradition. . .

With those memories hot pink became crème brûlée. In a way, isn’t life like those layers of paint? It’s comforting to know somewhere in me is a shade of pink rose bud layered with green gingham checks. We move on taking pieces with us. . . keeping it simple.

Here’s to tradition…no expectations. You’ll never know what you’ll find.

Christmas in July

Driving from lunch with a friend today ‘it’ washed over me like a warm summer shower. The pieces of the puzzle of the past four years came together in near perfect clarity….turning….

In that moment I realized that the ‘turning’ that led me to this day started much further back than four years ago. What a gift! The present, guided by the past, leading toward the future.

Beacons of change….lights….sparkling as brightly as any twinkling on a Christmas tree……

I’m no angel but on some days sitting on top of a tree year after year, surveying the world could come easily…..

Like so many women before me, I have worn many hats: daughter, friend, mother, wife, employee…. When it came time to “let go”, finding the path was challenging at times.

But it is in the ‘turning’, the ‘letting go’ that we discover ourselves and allow others to discover who they are….The bottom line is trusting the process.

That was today’s insight….and WHAT a gift!……it was like……..

Christmas in July!