That's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

Christmas sneaks up on me every year these days. I mean, I realize it's coming. The stores adorned in red, green, silver, and gold, the bumper-to-bumper traffic at the mall, and the non-stop Christmas music make it impossible to miss. And yet each year as the holiday draws near I find myself exclaiming, "Holy crap, Christmas is two weeks from today!"

Christmas seemed to take a lot longer to arrive when I was younger. Opening up the doors on that Advent calendar took for-freakin'-ever.

It also seemed to be a little more magical.

Now it's filled with gift wish lists and the stress of finding that "perfect present." Instead of worrying about those who have little this time of year, I worry that I won't be getting my family "enough" for Christmas. I've gotten one person six things - is that enough?? I've gotten another person just one simple, yet thoughtful, thing. Will they be offended?

I don't put up Christmas decorations anymore. It's not that I don't love them - I do. The thing about decorations is that after you put them up, they must be put away. I really hate that part. I put a tree up in my office several years ago and it stayed up until the next Christmas.

This time of year is also filled with plans and obligations - plans for good things, obligations to do good things, but things to do nonetheless. It's easy to become overwhelmed with the busy-ness of the season. Christmas concerts, holiday meals, volunteer projecst... All good things. In fact, those are the very kinds of things that should help me remember the "reason for the season," if you will... but more on that later. Sometimes all the good things on my schedule turn into just one more thing I have to do.

It's as though I've grown up and have peeked behind the curtain of Christmas. No, I've more than peeked. I've seen the wizard. The magic has been lost. Lost in all the places to go, presents to buy, and decorations to mess with. Lost in all the superficial Christmas music.

Christmas used to mean something entirely different.

Each year at the start of Advent I would rush to the kitchen every morning to open the next door of the Advent calendar. I couldn't wait for Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve was the most magical night, after all.

It's not because we opened presents on Christmas Eve (we only opened one) or even because there were only a few more hours until Christmas morning. Christmas Eve was always my favorite.

The first thing I loved about December 24th was the Christmas Eve service. The dimmed lights, the candles, the songs, and the fact that we were all there to celebrate something magical. Mystical, if you will. Actually, the word is holy.

We forget that sometimes. Christmas Eve is about love. It's about God loving us so much that God decided to live with us, as one of us. The churchy word for this is incarnation, but that's just a fancy way of saying someone loved us enough to want to be with us forever. That's what it's about - being with the people you love. Loving them, and being loved by them.

After church, my mom, stepdad, brother and I would pile in the minivan and embark on our annual tour of Christmas lights. With carols playing on the radio, we would ooh and ahh and sing our way home, where we would then sip hot chocolate and curl up on the couch to start the 24 -hour marathon of "A Christmas Story."

Christmas morning was just a bonus. Presents have never been the heart of Christmas for me. In fact, I'd almost rather have none. It's not about presents. It's just not. If I am trying to show my family and friends how much I love them by what I can buy or make for them, then I'm not loving them right.

Christmas is a holy time. It's easy for me to forget, but it's true. A holy night, indeed. Every person on earth should feel more loved than they ever have before each time December 24th rolls around, but not just because God loves us. When you're lonely, or stressed, or hurt, or hungry it can be hard to feel God's love. We need to love others, and we need to be loved by them as well.

Something else that's so wonderful about Christmas Eve was that at the end of the candlelight service, where we had just spent an hour reading and singing about the most wonderful gift of love from 2,000 years ago, we were all going our merry ways in order to keep that love alive. We were going out to be with our families, to be with our friends, or to visit the sick or feed the homeless. We were going out to love in whatever ways we could.

Yes, there are presents. And yes, there is cheesy Christmas music. There are even some ugly Christmas sweaters. But there is love, there is that infant Jesus born so many years ago, and it is magical. Holy.

A holy night, indeed.

That's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

Lord of the Animal Farm: a reflection on power and socio-economic barriers

Even though I was in high school when I first read it, "Animal Farm" still gave me nightmares. I did my best to learn the lessons between the lines, but mostly I was disturbed by the walking, talking, whip-carrying pigs. It was the same for "Lord of the Flies." (Again with the pigs!) I managed to overcome my intense dislike for the stories long enough to learn one thing: absolute power corrupts absolutely. (Ms. Goldmann would be so proud.)


Do you know what else corrupts? Money. But then again, money is tied to power, so I'm not saying anything new here when I say money corrupts. Whatever gives people a sense of power corrupts.


I accidentally conducted an experiment on socio-economic divisions with my youth group last weekend. (Haven't we all, though?) It just happened. See, we spend our Saturday doing volunteer projects and collecting food for a food pantry. The 24 teenagers were fantastic. Hard-working, determined, and in good spirits. When it came time for dinner I'm sure they were expecting a nice, hearty meal with a dollup of relaxation on the side.


Unaffirmative.


Our food-collection activity had been a scavenger hunt, at the end of which we award point totals. There was a 1st place team, all the way down to our 5th place (also called "last place") team, even though when it comes to helping others, there is no last place. Their dinner mission? Buy dinner from the local grocery store - but there's a catch. I'm sure most people in ministry are familiar with the concept of a "Dollar Meal" (and not the kind from McDonald's). You give each person one dollar and that is what they have to spend on their meal. That is ALL they have to spend.


Typically, kids catch on pretty quickly that by combining their money they can feed more people with more food. I decided to switch the dollar meal up this time around. Instead of giving everyone $1, the winning food scavenger hunt team members each received $2, the middle three teams $1, and the "losing" team one quarter. Then I sent them to Pick-n-Save.


They'd catch on pretty quick, right? I was sure of it. I had no idea what the next hour and a half of our lives would look like. I had no idea about the can of worms I had just opened.


The quarters caught on right away. By combining their money they had $1.25. Woohoo! Ramen all around! (Obviously these kids have never been to college.) Little by little, the quarters started bumping into the dollars. "Want to join our group?" The dollars were more than happy to oblige. Heck, if they got all the dollars and quarters together they'd have $22! Imagine the possibilities!


Before anyone could check out, the entire group was to meet at the bananas. You know, to check in, to make sure everyone's getting something. By the time Banana Pow-Wow #1 rolled around, the kids had divided into two distinct groups - the have-lesses, and the have-mores. The quarters and dollars had all combined, and the two-dollars had stuck together. Interesting, no?


It was then that the "have-lesses" (a group of 22) first asked the "have-mores" (a smaller group of 6) if they would like to join forces. $28 can buy a lot of food, believe it or not. The "have-lesses" were excited about the possibilities. The menu? Spaghetti with two kinds of sauce (meat and four cheese), buttered egg noodles, and corn. A veritable feast! Who wouldn't want in?


The "have-mores," that's who. As an outside observer it was fascinating to watch as the five girls with their two dollars each began to feel that if they combined with the bigger group, they would be losing some of their... POWER. Sure, they used phrases like, "we just want a say in what we're having for dinner," or "the group is too big for everyone to get exactly what they want," but I caught the deeper meaning, even though they didn't. Even after everyone had agreed - and I mean everyone, in both groups, multiple times - that each person was okay with the new menu, the "have-mores" still resisted. Was it because they wanted to be the decision makers? Perhaps. Were they feeling that their $2 contributions gave them the right to more of a say in the decision-making process than those with less? Perhaps.


How do you make equal decisions in a group where some are "more equal" than others?


In the end, the "have-mores" did their own thing. I probably shouldn't say this, but out of all the groups to break the "don't accept donations" rule, the "have-mores" were the one to do it. They were 2 cents short of being able to get an extra bag of pretzels on sale, and decided to accept a lady's kind offer to help. Interesting. Again, very interesting.


The "have-mores" were left unsatisfied with their meal, while the "have-lesses" were overstuffed. Another interesting point was that the "have-mores," after seeing how much more food the "have-lesses" had, didn't ask if they could share. Even more interesting was that the "have-lesses" didn't offer.


During our "processing" conversation, it came out that both groups had felt rejected and dismissed by the other, the "have-lesses" feeling as though the "have-mores" were too good for them, and the "have-mores" feeling as though the "have-lesses" didn't want their help. Poor communication was quickly named the culprit.


At one point I asked the "have-mores" why they deserved to have more $$ than the others. They earned it, came the response. They worked hard and won the scavenger hunt. But what about the "have-lesses?" Didn't they work just as hard? The fact that the "have-mores" had more had nothing to do with their own skill or merit at all. It had everything to do with an arbitrary decision to give some people more, and some less.


The key word there is "give."


We enter dangerous territory when we begin to think that what we have puts us in a higher position than others who have less. Why do we have what we have in the first place? We work hard, yes. We work VERY hard, yes. We make the best decisions we can, yes. But it's all a gift. We don't earn it, not really. It's a gift. There are people in Tanzania right now who work just as hard and make decisions just as smart, just as good. But you know what? They have no food - none - right now because it hasn't rained. That's it - it just hasn't rained.


The kids with quarters, it just didn't rain for them. The kids with $2, it poured.


At the start of the activity, the "have-mores" set out with the intention of buying what they needed and then giving what they had left to their friends with less. They have such good hearts. We all do. We all feel the struggle of having more than others. How do we reconcile our abundance with our brothers' and sisters' famine? I assured my kids that it was okay for them to want to take care of their needs first, and give second. That is a reasonable way to feel. But is it what God wants? I'm not so sure.


God wants to be the one who provides. In the Bible we're told to give God our first-fruits and then let God meet our every need. We give God the best of our crop, the best of our lamb... God gives us everything and more.


We have no right to exert power over others just because we have more money. We have no right to exert power over others just because we think we are better. We are all equal. We are all equal. I could be mistaken, but I think it was Animal Farm's Napolean, the pig, who ammended the Farm's seventh commandment to read, "All animals are equal... but some animals are more equal than others." I have no solutions on how to mend the socio-economic divides we have so solidly established, but I know that justice will only come when that ammendment is abolished.


It was a hard lesson for us all to learn last weekend. In the end we were left sitting in the gray area between absolutes and feelings. Yes, we want to take care of ourselves. Yes, we want to keep our money and use it for ourselves. But... Yes, we want to take care of our friends and neighbors. Yes, we want to help out and we don't like seeing people suffer.


How do we reconcile?

Yuppie "fans"

What has happpened to our society when the best seats in the house go to over-paid and over-dressed higher-ups who spend the entire game bent over their Blackberries?

This was the image during last night's ALCS game. Yankees vs. Angels. Not a great game, but playoff game nonetheless. The southern California crowd was electric and almost entirely crimson, like a home game in Madison. The Angels didn't play their best - neither did the umps - and the Yankees ended up getting away with bigger win than they should have. Not a great night to be an Angels fan.

Still, none of that excuses the downright disgusting behavior on the part of all the men and women who got the priveledge of sitting in front. They were closer to the field than the players in the dugout. Enclosed in a kind of yuppie cage, I think these people were confused. Instead of being dressed for a baseball game, they looked as though they got sidetracked on their way to the US Open. (Golf or tennis, take your pick.) Button-downs, blazers, dresses or high-heels have no business being in a ballpark.

Instead of reveling in the fortuitous circumstances that led the people to the best seats in the house, they chose to ignore their surroundings completely. At one point the cameras zoomed in on a group of three having what could have only been the most interesting conversation ever, not a single one of them facing the field. This was right after an A-rod homer. Granted, he's a Yankee. They're probably Californians. A-rod's not their guy. Still, it seemed rather Grinch-like to me.

If they weren't talking to each other they were texting on their Blackberries. Or checking the news. Or their email. Or whatever it is that is so important it keeps people glued to their phones as though the world will end if they aren't using it for more than one minute.

It's one thing to have a conversation with someone at a ballgame - even if you are dressed like a yuppie. That I can (almost) live with. But to face the field, sitting closer to home plate than most kids would ever know to dream of, with your head bowed in reverence to your Blackberry, you are a disgrace to baseball.

But you don't care.

It wasn't a big deal for them to sit where they did. It wasn't luck, there were no fortuitous circumstances that brought all those big-wigs together in their khaki pants and pink ties. They bought it. They got what they wanted - exposure. They got to rub elbows with others of their kind. I sure hope the baseball game didn't cause them too much of a disturbance.

This, to me, captures a lot of what is wrong with our society. When looking good and rubbing elbows is more important than getting lost in the count, caught up in the frustration over the ump's unfair call, and carried away when your team scores the winning run, something's wrong. Give the good seats to the people who care, not to the people who have so much money that they don't. If all you're going to do is sit and talk, do that somewhere else. In the corridors. In the upper deck. In a bar. In your living room. Give the good seats to the people who care.

Baseball is a game of magic. Of possibilities. Kids know that. Hell, everyone sitting above the 2nd deck knows that. What happens at the ballpark, it can inspire you. One swing of the bat can make you forget everything that's wrong in the world, if only just for a moment. For that one moment, everything is perfect. Baseball is for those who appreciate the power of the underdog. It's for those who can believe in something, even if that something was as unlikely as the Red Sox winning a World Series before 2003. Never stop believing. It's magical. It's baseball. If you don't appreciate that, what are you doing there?

So, stay out of my ballpack, yuppies. You don't deserve it.

Dear God, you are confusing.

Dear God,

I don't understand you most of the time. It seems to be that whenever I get a sense of divine direction in my life the direction changes. The trail ends. Sometimes the trail's end is gradual, as if the trail's caretaker had long since forgotten about it and nature had begun to claim its space again. Sometimes the directional change is as abrupt as getting a door slammed in your face.

I do my best to understand what you want, to understand where I need to be, to understand my place in the world at any given time. I know it changes. Life is anything but static. Permanence is a concept I've learned to live without. And yet I crave stability.

I've always been able to see the good that can come from a situation, or the steps I can - I should - take after the trail I have been hiking begins to fade away. You have always taken care of me. I'm sure you still are.

It's just hard to understand why some things happen the way they do. You know, why did this have to happen, when the opposite of this would have been so much better? And easier? And good for everyone? Well, perhaps not. Often times the things we want are not the best things for us.

It's hard to swallow that medicine, but I'll do my best.

I wrote once that there are no "ifs" in the world. You remember, Corrie ten Boom actually wrote it first. Things happen, and we move foward. It's no use wondering what if. Luckily I've never been a big "what if" kind of girl.

I don't wonder "what if," but I do wonder "why not?"

You typically tend to answer in time, so I'm going to wait. You'll know where to find me.

Your friend,
Me

Confessions of a Control Freak

Hello. My name is Gloria, and I am a control freak.

This may surprise some of you. More likely, it surprises none of you and you’re sitting there thinking, “Yeah, we’ve all known for awhile.” Well, it surprised me. Control freaks rarely know they are control freaks until they unwittingly find themselves out of control, and this rarely happens because control freaks are pretty good about staying in control. It comes with the condition.

Youth ministry is an odd place for a control freak to be. My kind flocks here, to be sure. Planning meetings and events, trips and retreats, detail after detail to be looked after – it’s like Christmas all year long. But add in the unpredictable nature of human behavior and Murphy’s Law and it’s a control freak’s worst nightmare.

I was unaware of my problem for so long because I felt I handled the unexpected ups and downs of ministry quite well. I didn’t feel freakish about having a handle on everything and being in charge.

Then came Boston. By far the largest ministry endeavor I have ever embarked upon, the only way for that mission trip to be successful was to rely upon the help and initiative of others. Much like the path to recovery for any condition, I took baby steps. Even so, I was still burning the candle at both ends and exhausting myself in the process.

July 17th – the day of our departure – arrived and right away I knew something was wrong. I was exhausted and running on fumes. Even worse, I was sick. My head throbbed and my throat ached. By the time we stopped in Albany, NY on Saturday for the night I was a delirious mess. But with 48 people relying on me for guidance, information, and direction, what was I to do?

Well, for starters I was to realize that I was never in control of anything to begin with. God was in charge, and God would provide. Boy, did God provide. The adult leaders stepped up and took the reins. The pastor of our overnight host church called a church member early Sunday morning and arranged for me to be taken to an urgent-care clinic. It took a few days for me to feel like myself again, but little by little I began to come around. Not even counting my illness, on a mission trip there are a million details to be attended to throughout the week – never once was anything left undone. Never once was anyone’s need left unmet.

As the week progressed I began to see very clearly the reasons why each person was brought on this trip – adult leaders and youth alike. Everyone served a purpose. God was in control of this trip back in the fall when kids began to sign up, when adults came to me saying they wanted to be a part of it all. There were 49 of us, and not one of us an accident. Not one.

The theme of our mission week was “Free.” Yes, I have been a control freak, but that week I experienced liberation. Because I was physically incapable of doing everything myself I had to delegate and watch as other people met and fulfilled every need that arose. I watched as our adults and youth made genuine connections with each other. I watched as they made genuine connections with the people with whom we were sent to serve. I watched our young people and adults wrestle, bend, and grow in ways they hadn’t anticipated, as each one of us stepped outside our comfort zone.

And the more I let go, the more I felt at peace.

Yes, my name is Gloria and I am a control freak. But on this mission trip, I learned that I don’t have to be. Things actually work out better when I’m not.

Grieving tummies.

Today for breakfast and lunch I ate an entire bag of hot dog buns. Just the buns. Plain. It was exactly what I needed. Yesterday, a blended strawberry lemonade from Starbucks was the thing. I had three.

Grieving tummies crave odd things, but when they do it's best to give them exactly what they want.

The Pitcher

There’s a pitcher that used to sit in my living room, holding an arrangement of tiger lilies. It was an odd coupling, to be sure. The beautiful bouquets contrasted horribly with their vase—arguably the ugliest pitcher ever made. Looking back, I’m not sure why I used it at the time.

Well, still used it.

That brow-crinkling piece of pottery—a mosaic of different earth-toned fruits and flowers—was a gift. Endearing at the time but painful as time passed, I remember fighting the desire to throw the pitcher up against the wall in hopes it would shatter and cease to exist. However, breaking the pitcher wouldn’t have solved my problems (though it would have relieved my living room of the eyesore).

See, there was this guy. (You knew we’d get there sometime, right?) He gave me the pitcher—the ugly, chipped, thrift store pitcher—and though he exited from my life, the pitcher hung around.

That’s the problem with break-ups – the person is gone but their stuff is still with you. The least they could have done is taken their crap with them when they left, like all those blasted memories… But you have them, their stuff and those memories, and are left with the arduous task of figuring out what to do with all of it. For some, that “stuff” is a house, or a dog, or books and movies, or an old sweatshirt you keep hidden but secretly wear at night because it still smells like them. For me, that “stuff” was an ugly pitcher.

It was so grade school when he gave it to me. We were “friends” at the time. He was browsing the shelves of a thrift shop one day when he came upon the pitcher and immediately thought of me. Cute, right? Ugly pitcher, Gloria. Ugly pitcher, Gloria. It was hard for me to get the connection at first. He explained it by saying it was the ugliest pitcher he had ever seen, and that he thought I would laugh if he gave it to me. It should have a home, he said. It worked. I laughed. I loved it. Then he left to go spend the weekend with his long-distance girlfriend.

This is how our relationship—our “friendship”—was for a long time, really. He had a girlfriend and was unavailable, but for having a girlfriend and being “unavailable,” he was awfully available to me. So when we finally started dating for real it seemed right.

Wrong. Take note: relationships involving an exchange of hideous pottery are not any more likely to succeed than relationships in which pottery has not played a role. Endearing gestures a relationship do not make.

I have moved twice since the pitcher came into my life, and I can’t seem to remember what happened to it. I’m not a very sentimental mover – the less I have to pack, move, and unpack the better. The pitcher probably ended up in a box marked for Goodwill.

I think that’s how it is with relationships.. They come and they go. When they come, we do crazy things like buy ugly pottery. When they go, we want to throw the pottery against the wall. We want to keep whatever pieces we still have with us. We want to get it out of our life. We want to figure out how to keep it in our life. Time passes, and then one day you can’t remember what happened to it. It’s gone. It disappeared, and you hadn’t even noticed.

I have been ugly-pottery free for quite some time now. I think perhaps it might be time to go and find some more.

A bathroom for the birdies.

For all the wonders that spring brings with it - warm weather, sunshine, J.J. Hardy's brilliant blue eyes, flowers, green grass, and the smell of fresh rain on dusty pavement (just to name a few) - there is one spring phenomenon I could truly do without.

My front porch turns into a birdie bathroom.

It's ridiculous. This didn't happen until my father started feeding the birds in the front yard instead of the backyard. Before this, I would awake each morning to the not-as-soothing-as-one-might-think sounds of mourning doves and sparrows chirping as they fight over corn and seed. One morning I woke up and realized the birds were gone. In pursuit of better protection from predatory birds (more than once I have witnessed the demise of a mourning dove at the hands - well, talons - of a hungry hawk) and more plentiful food, they had migrated south-east to the front-yard birm.

I thoroughly enjoyed the break from my avian alarm clock. Of course, for every action there is a reaction and no good thing comes without a price. Upon returning home from work one summer afternoon, I noticed the white porch banister was in need of some serious re-painting. Of course, that was from far away. A closer inspection revealed the chipped paint was not, in fact, chipped paint at all, but bird poop. Lots and lots of bird poop.

By itself, a single bird dropping doesn't give off much of a smell. Combined, bird droppings have the power to bring even the most olfactorily-resistant man to his knees.

(I don't know if "olfactorily-resistant" is a phrase, or if "olfactorily" is even a word, but I am not deleting it. I like it.)

It's not only unpleasant to the nose; it's an eye-sore. And this is the front porch--this is the first thing people see when they come to the house. Is that the kind of impression we want to give people?

I scrubbed and scrubbed that banister, but try as I might I wasn't able to completely rid the porch of all the crap.

"Move the bird feeder, or clean the shit yourself," I told my father in exasperation. He didn't seem to care. He uses the garage door, thus limiting his exposure to the front porch.

The bird feeder remains.

As a side note, on more than one occasion I have found myself caught up in a mass of frantically flying feathers as my sudden presence on the porch has startled the birds from their peaceful perches. And while I feel badly for the occasional mourning dove that flies straight into the garage siding, I also laugh at it. I suppose that is the one bright side to this whole situation. A little bit of humorous bird suffering. It's the least they can do, seeing as they continue to use my porch for their toilet.

Mmmmmm sunshine.

For those who know me, this will come as no surprise. I love sunshine and warm weather. It's not just a preference for pleasantness; sunshine and warmth actually affect the very innermost parts of my soul. Sunshine is at the very heart of my being. Sunshine really does make me happy.

This is why I go tanning in the winter. I need the rays.

Wisconsin isn't a bad place to live once spring begins. Everything turns green rather quickly once it's warm enough. I swear that the tree outside my office window sprouted leaves during the weekly staff meeting one Tuesday last spring. It happens that fast. I love it.

There's something about sitting outside in the evening, not even close to sunset, reading a good book and feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin. There's something about laying on the grass listening to soothing hum of a crowd at a baseball game on the radio. There's something about taking a 2-hour walk on a Saturday morning and stopping by your favorite park by the river just to sit and watch the water flow.

There's something about having sunlight for 15 hours in a day.

Love it.

Best six months of the year.

Can you feel it? April, May, June, July, August, September... They're here. Well, the first one is here. Are you excited?

Please repeat after me, with the indicated level of excitement:

(loud and very excited) BASEBALL IS BACK!!!! I'm so excited!!!!

Thank you.

Excitemehesitrepidation

Yesterday was a big day for America. Yesterday millions watched as our 44th president was sworn in. It was really quite amazing. In my lifetime I have never seen this much excitement over an elected leader. Watching the fanfare, hearing the music, and listening to the speeches, I was inspired. I was moved. I was so darn proud. I was also a tiny bit frightened.

Did you see the mall? How many people were there? Quite a few. And across the country, how many people watched the coverage on TV or listened to the radio? Millions more. How much anticipation has been building for that very moment - and all these moments that are coming after? An unimagineable amount. I voted for Obama. I believe he has a fresh passion - perhaps a less corrupt passion - for this country. But I'm not blinded by infatuation. I hope he strives to make this country - and this world - a better place, but I know it won't always be easy. Things won't always go down the way I want them to.

Do all the people watching yesterday know that?

It comes with a lot of pressure, being the people's messiah. Whether he wanted to be or not, the scary thing is that with all the buzz, all the hype, all the anticipation... if this leader falls, will our faith in people ever recover?

It's not wise to put all your eggs in one basket (Grandma wisdom is always applicable). When we place all our hopes and dreams in one person we are setting ourselves up for disappointment. Even if Obama never does anything remotely questionable he still won't be perfect. He is just a man. A good man, we hope. A good man, I believe. But a man nonetheless.

I just hope we understand that.