A Still Life

I’m not much for Twitter but enjoy lurking for the sole purpose of following a few people of interest. Cornel West never disappoints, and this afternoon’s words on a life of faith are amazing.

I’m first and foremost a Christian, but one who works through Anton Chekhov, John Coltrane, & Toni Morrison.

To be a Christian is to live dangerously, honestly, freely – to step in the name of love as if you may land on nothing…

…Yet to keep on stepping because the something that sustains you no empire can give you and no empire can take away.

How would you finish that sentence? To be a Christian is…

On the first Sunday of Advent, we spoke quite often of light: seeking light, light shining in darkness, anticipating light. Lucille Clifton, in her book The Book of Light, points to synonyms for what it is we might be seeking.

LIGHT

ray
stream
gleam
beam
sun
glow
flicker
shine
lucid
spark
scintilla
flash
blaze
flame
fire
serene
luciferous
lightning bolt
luster
shimmer
glisten
gloss
brightness
brilliance
splendor
sheen
dazzle
sparkle
luminous
reflection
kindle
illuminate
brighten
glorious
radiate
radiant
splendid
clarify
clear

Roget’s Thesaurus

After a couple of weeks of taking time to tend to private concerns, my focus is returning to routine and life before me. I’m sitting in my living room with flavors of Thanksgiving still lingering and signs of Christmas emerging. I’m thumbing through this great family Advent book for creative practices to embrace in our home and in the Church. Just as surely as the catalogs keep arriving, talk of toy wish lists continue growing. While it may be altogether age-appropriate and not-at-all unusual, I find myself in a hurry to move past our son’s Christmas greed and get to the part where he naturally skews toward generosity and compassion. But if that’s a discipline I am still striving to embrace, then of course I am foolish to expect this young child to arrive at my own sought after destination.

I move toward embracing such ways of moving and being by reading words like those from this friend and of the actions of these activist heroes. Our family moves toward embracing such ways by welcoming neighbors for a long, leisurely meal instead of participating in Black Friday shenanigans. Let’s be honest, I have my own wish list of stuff even when I kid myself into thinking otherwise. I move toward a way of generosity and compassion when I unexpectedly receive that care from others. Recently, upon returning from a long trip, I was welcomed home by the fairy friends who crept into my house with savory soup, amazing floral arrangements, fresh rosemary bread, and a divine mac & cheese. These friends become heroes, too, and they remind me of a way that really can be lived right here and right now.

This time between Thanksgiving and Christmas is not just an in-between time or a countdown to festive celebration, it’s an opportunity to move between gratitude and living a life shaped by the perspective that true gratitude brings. In some ways, the anticipation of Advent is also anticipation of the life of gratitude and compassion I hope to one day fully embody. Can any of us ever fully embody it? Not yet. We sit in a perpetual before but work toward the goal, nonetheless. I am glad to sit in this season of gratitude for just one more day before the excitement and intentionality of Advent begins. One more slice of pumpkin pie, one more day of leisure and rest, and one more day to savor the moments that really matter.

I found this blog maybe two or three years ago and have since followed along each week. One of her recent posts connects with me in what has been a privately challenging week. I love these verses she includes from Psalm 56:

Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book?

When I cry unto thee, then shall mine enemies turn back: this I know; for God is for me.

In God will I praise his word: in the LORD will I praise his word.

In God have I put my trust: I will not be afraid what man can do unto me.

Thy vows are upon me, O God: I will render praises unto thee

It’s a lovely image, the bottle of tears. It is a powerful thing to be reminded that we are not alone. We are seen. We are known. We are felt. We are held. We are remembered.

If I were to look outside right now and attempt to describe the world, I would say it’s dark. Bleak. Cold. Lonely. Empty. But you see, it’s night time and bed time and reading books to kids time. It’s doing laundry and end-of-the-day time. This is a moment, this is not the whole world.

If I were to walk outside in August 2010 here in Virginia and attempt to describe the world, I would have said it’s sweltering. Unyielding. Suffocating. But that was a season, you see, and not a forever reality.

If I were to revisit the chaos of newborn months with The Boy who was 4 pounds 11 ounces, couldn’t latch to nurse, and couldn’t sleep because he was tiny and hungry and had parents who were sleep deprived nerve bundles who had not yet tapped into their instincts and describe that world, I would have had no words to speak. Exhaustion. Anxiety. Confusion. Joy. Awe. Belief.  It was a moment, a fleeting season, but not forever and always.

Each moment gives birth to a new one. Being present in the moment is a practice for me and sometimes a struggle. I think the practice of being in the moment gives perspective to all of those other moments and reminds me that this one right here in front of me is fleeting. Sometimes I want it to fly right on and birth a better, more beautiful one. And other times I want to pause it and freeze it and savor each drop of it. It is, after all, only a moment, and not always. Not forever.

When we lose perspective, we can look at moments and not see them rightly anymore. We can see the darkness or the suffocation or the exhaustion and not the birth and the joy and the awe. I am thankful for good, good friends and dear, dear family who are light-shedders on beauty and mystery and hope.

These are fleeting moments, my friends, and we posses the power to choose how we enter into them. We are powerful. We are made in the very image of God with capacity to create and speak into being: LIGHT. We can shed light onto and into and out of these moments. And that light-shedding, God-breathed capacity within us is not a moment but is always and forever. We carry it with us. When one of us forgets, we bear light for the other. We remind each other that these are moments. Just moments.

While I’m not writing Family Fun Friday posts each week, I feel the difference in withdrawing more from social media play and choosing to participate more fully in real, flesh-and-blood life. It’s good. I’m *almost* ready to get rid of the old Magnavox…but not just yet. (How very St. Augustine of me, right?) I’m thinking on such things this morning while The Boy is at school and The Girl and I play.

She’s a box dumper. Happiest when each and every bin of toys and drawer of art supplies is emptied onto the floor for stomping and ignoring. We change shoes. Often. First frog boots, then pink Keds, then brown Mary Janes, and now ladybug boots. There’s lots of dancing in circles, a little Diego and PBS, much snacking, and a book or two thrown in for good measure. These are quiet, sacred little mornings together.

The Boy loves, loves, loves preschool. These half days help prepare my heart for next year’s fuller separation of Kindergarten, and these half days give me time with just my girl. No errands run, no cleaning tasks attempted, no meals prepared. It’s good to stop it all and just sit here and witness The Girl being her wild, wild self.

As we creatively remove all this candy from our house, it is now time for giving thanks, making plans to welcome friends into our warm home, and then decorating for (and observing well) Advent and Christmas. I am so delighted to welcome these new seasons and want to savor each little step.