days...

I am back in Nebraska for Christmas. In my time here- I have been back since the 18th, I have had many laughs and have shed some tears as well.

My family, I think is a close one. We spend time together and enjoy these moments of life and energy wit hone another. I have enjoyed a certain kind of warm connection with extended family as well. Most of my family lives in North Dakota. Every summer growing up, we-the Nebraskans would drive up to North Dakota for vacation. We would play with cousins, have camp outs, and really, just enjoy our time. My oldest cousin was Michael. We found out today that he died in a hunting accident yesterday, but wasn't found until today. MIchael is a beautiful man with three equally beautiful and talented children. He was the oldest of 7 children.

During the season of waiting- I ask for your continued prayers as his family waits to gather together for his funeral.

Peace

Joseph...

Winter has finally made it to my soul. That is not a depressing comment (when the wind howls in my mind then we can be worried). Growing up on the plains of Nebraska, we had mountains on one side- about 275 miles away so there was not a lot of protection from the Rockies. When winter would blow in, there was snow for days. I remember it snowing on my birthday one year-late September. I also remember it snowing on my first Holy Communion- the last week of April.

I miss the snow in DC- though from what I hear it is a good thing that it does not come often here as people have struggles with driving and snow. But the chill and crisp air of snow and winter is something that I sorely miss. There was always something about the fact that walking outside at times could literally take your breath away. Once I would make it to my car, I could see about the snow, was there any new stuff? Did the plow try to block me in a driveway?

The season of Advent is supposed to be filled with anticipation. I get tastes and flavors of anticipation everyday, it comes with the responsibility of being one of the most impatient people I know. But last year as I watched one of my nearest and dearest struggle with her husband to get pregnant, there was a tinge of bittersweet mixed in with my advent. They had been trying for some time. It was finals week of the fall semester and L leaned over in a class and told me she hadn’t been feeling well, and I smiled and said, “Hmmm.” Her response was, “Yeah right!” As we were in the middle of Christology I think she referred to something about her prosopon, which a year ago I knew what that meant and laughed, but now I can’t recall. Anyways, the point is that I watched her and F struggle with trying to reconcile what they wanted for themselves as a couple and what God wanted for them. I sat with her in her tears, and wept by myself and prayed. I remember feeling so helpless- there is nothing I could do, except what I was, and an occasional trip to the Local Blend- the local coffee shop who had come to know both of us well over those three years.

As I was writing this, I began to wonder, is this what Joseph went through? Watching someone he love struggle so heart wrenchingly to answer a call? Mary’s motherhood was a part of her vocation as much as L’s is (Baby S is now 4 months!!) Joseph was an amazing man- yet he sometimes comes across as the “off-handed afore-mentioned man who shall not be named”. I guess that is what happens sometimes. When we work towards something that really isn’t ours to begin with. We have to be willing to accept that there is nothing to tie us to this endeavor. I believe that the next time and last time Joseph is mentioned in the Gospel stories is when Jesus is lost in the temple. His parents claim their excitement and worry, and Jesus’ response is to sass back (oh to be 12 again!). I have yet to meet little S, so it seems that my advent has been since August. I tried to get there right after his birth, but it was too soon to see him, and now it looks like January will be when Christmas will finally come for me- and as it will be in MN- I hope that there will be snow!

Baby Skates, Baby Jesus and Salsa-What a Combination!

I was having dinner with a friend of mine and we were talking at length about what our favorite Christmas memories were growing up. I was regaling him with stories about what a Mougey Christmas looked like, and what it meant.

My favorite and perhaps most formative Christmas memory happened to me when I was only five. I was supposed to be in bed, but had gotten up and both my parents were laying on the floor in the living room looking up at the tree and talking, laughing and well, just being adults. I remember the feeling as I approached their figures on the floor. I remember that it was during the middle of the week, and my dad was still there, which was unusual because he was/is working out of town a lot. It was a special time. I imagine that in the whole scheme of things my parents were probably talking about how to pay for Christmas and all that kind of boring adult stuff. One of them saw me and called me over. I went and lay in between them on the floor. I remember knowing how special this time was even in that moment. My brother was not even a figment of anyone’s imagination at this point, so I was the middle of three little girls- and to have such time – precious time with my parents all to myself was rare!! My mom and I had our heads resting on my dad’s arm and I was wrapped tightly in my mother’s embrace. We talked about what I wanted for Christmas. Baby Jesus must have been listening because I got Baby Skates that year!!!

I was talking with my friend also about the language of Christmas. We, my siblings and I were not encouraged to believe in Santa Clause, but rather it was Baby Jesus who delivered toys and presents to us on Christmas because he wanted to make sure that we knew how very special his birthday was! What that meant was that Baby Jesus (my dad) delivered the stockings and my parents bought our Christmas presents. My dad would be helping in the kitchen with dinner and the grandparents would have the grandkids entertained and distracted in the living room. My dad would sneak out the back door of the house, around the side of the house to the front porch and drop off the stockings filled with all kinds of good and wonderful things. He would hurry back around to the back of the house. As soon as he would walk in the back door, my mom would come out of the kitchen exclaiming that she thought she had heard something on the front porch… “Maybe Baby Jesus dropped something. One of your girls go and see if Baby Jesus left something out there!” We of course would make a mad dash for a glimpse of Baby Jesus. My dad in the meantime would be thawing out in the kitchen eating some turkey.

I was laughing as I was telling my friend Adam about all this, and how being raised knowing that it was Baby Jesus had brought our gifts rather Santa had always been an interesting dynamic for us as kids growing up.

The other part I remember about Christmas is also a Dad memory. On Christmas Eve, we would of course have a big meal and when the food was all put away, my dad would get tomatoes, paprika and tobasco out. He would then begin to make homemade salsa. I remember that us girls were watching him very intently and then asked, “What are you doing Dad?” “Makin’ salsa for tonight,” was the response. After an audible gasp from three little girls he looked up at us (we were on the counter) and he said, “What’s wrong?” “Is that for Baby Jesus?” was the question back. Thinking quick, he said, “Yes! Yes, I am going to leave this out for Baby Jesus tonight! Won’t that be great?” Looking back I can just imagine the wheels turning! He thought he had managed to “trick” or at least throw the girls off track. Not so fast Dad! “But Daddy, Baby Jesus is a baby! He can’t have anything spicy!!!”

We were told to go and finish watching Emmett Otter’s Jug Band Christmas or to go to bed.

May the spirit of waiting for Baby Jesus continue to fill your hearts and your days!

is it simply complex? or just simple?

“There is a way to know if God is near us or far away: everyone who is concerned about the hungry, about the naked, about the poor, about the disappeared, about the tortured, about the prisoner, about all the flesh that is suffering, will find God near…” Oscar Romero

Advent is a liturgical season that has always carried significant weight for me since I was a little girl. Every night we- my family would gather around our advent wreath, placed on a 1920’s antique radio. We would say our prayers to God, acknowledging that we were waiting and anticipating the birth of Jesus. I grew up hearing about the “root of Jesse” or “the shoot of Jesse”. After prayers we would get a children’s book that told the Old Testament story of the day highlighting the Israelites story as they journey with YHWh attempting to live in right relationship. I remember that the names were really hard and ridiculous sometimes. My favorites though were the story of Ruth and Naomi and Queen Esther.

I wonder if Archbishop Romero was able to identify with the Israelites when he would see the plight of the men, women and children that he led? They were the “original” naked, hungry, poor and tortured. One of the most incredible points of Romero’s life (I am NOT in any way or shape an expert but have a vague familiarity with him) was that he was considered a non-threat by the church, he was complacent with his place. He was going to be just a quiet bishop eating in his rectory, sipping his wine and attending right parties with right patrons. Yet, he allowed himself to stray and become a part of the story of the shoot of Jesse for today.

His passion for people is what led to his murder. He decided that it was necessary to step outside his comfort zone and challenge the status quo. He did the same things that the Israelites had done for centuries trying to establish and reestablish right relationship with YHWH. Did he know that he was a leader? Obviously he didn’t do all of his work for the notoriety that he has since received.

I sometimes wonder if it is that simple. To just serve and not wonder about the daily toils that come with living in the world. The Israelites had bills. The men and women of El Salvador have bills and face deeper consequences than I will probably ever know in my life- but is it really just as simple as doing the right thing? I know the answer is a bit ridiculous-but really?...

Is it simple enough for me to want to live as Ruth and Naomi did- to live in community and follow one another and trust the rightness of someone else’s vision? Is it simple enough to be able to stand up to evil people who want to harm my brothers and sisters as Queen Esther did? These are complicated and complex questions- but aren’t they also simple? Is that how we find that God is near?

my yoke is heavy...

The picture is one of my favs from my time in Phoenix. My friends are off to the side while I was chattin' with Bill. The guy at the next table thought I was a freak- but I was more than ok with that. I miss you all!!!!


I have had an interesting week to say the least- and it is only Wednesday. I know it has been a drastic amount of time since I have written consistently. I find it starteling sometimes how much I need to function out of a sense of order. I spent the last weekend cleaning the apartment I am living in and the apartment I will be moving all my stuff to after Christmas. It was a cleaning to rival every Dickens novel, except I was not a twelve year old orphan. Yet, the apartment is clean, sparse and mine! (and Molly’s too- she is my housemate).

The week started out with a clash of symbols bringing about a pause of forgiveness. With that finished, my week kinda opened up. I went shopping for some things for the apartment with a friend and I decided I needed a hands-free plug for phone (as I now don’t have a car, it makes sense to finally purchase one). While we were in the store looking for one a woman approached me as I was selecting the cheapest option to buy and said she would give me one. I was taken aback for several reasons. We were shopping in an area of DC not known for its welcoming nature or hospitality. Now, I am not saying that it isn’t there- I have had nice times and welcoming times in West Hyattsville, but I had never had a woman approach me to give me an item. She went to her car and came back with the hands free unit. I looked at my friend A. and he just kinda shrugged his shoulder with a “sketch” look on his face.

When we got back to the car we both kinda processed what that was about. Was it a woman just being friendly? Trying to share what she had? A woman embodying the reality of living in and helping others with their needs. There is a saying- I can’t remember who, but it states, if you have two coats, you have stolen from your poor brother or sister. Was she attempting to live out this call? In turn, I had to process why I couldn’t just accept this gift from this woman who was being nice. There was such deep hesitation and resistance in taking this gift- freely given. I have no problem giving gifts to those that I deem need them- need me! Yet, I suffer from the idea that someone would want to help me?

I wonder if this is what Jesus was talking about in the gospel for today. He tells us to take his yoke- the burden is easier because he will bear it with us. Was the woman at the store bearing some of my burden? Was I bearing hers?

Resolution

"you repent not by feeling bad but by thinking differently" ~Rudy Wiebe

It is the second week of Advent- my favorite season- liturgically and weather wise. This is the time of the year when the snow is supposed to blanket the earth, to wrap the land in a shawl of white. There is something holy in being surrounded and protected by such a cold element.

Advent is a time in which reconciliation doesn't get much play- but I think (and many would agree) that reconciliation plays an incredible part in the spirit and movement of the season. On my walk to work this morning I was recalling a time when I was in college and one of my best friends had hurt me and I had called him out. He apologized in a very sincere manner, and then very abruptly he clapped his hands together and cried out, "Let the healing begin!!" Needless to say it was not this big pivotal healing moment that I expected once he had made such an announcement.

On my walk I was thinking about how it is so much easier to be patient when external "owies" are being healed. We know not to pick at the scab. We know that there needs to be a balance of air and moisture to promote the right amount of protection on the scab. But when the hurt is internal it is much harder to gauge about how to allow the healing to take place. It is a delicate process. Not enough care leaves a person brittle, easily broken and unyielding. Too much care leaves a person a puddle of goo.

This is one of the profound measures we can find in this season of Advent. There is a need for honest reflection on hurts and misunderstandings, there is time to closeup wounds left open, there is a need to allow mends to be made.

Call it what you want, resolution, healing, reconciliation- I call it holy.

Peace and patience to you.