A lot like Love

This morning, with Christmas approaching, I am reading in the gospels, to remind myself of what Christmas is.  Except, it's not doing it for me.  I'm thinking:  Why does it matter, that Jesus was who he said he was, that the gospels say his birth was important?

And so I turn to Isaiah, because I know that he's the guy who explained it the best, the one who said: 'People, we need him to come, and to come in Power.  Look for him, wait.'

As I'm reading, I'm consistently confronted with the word--the concept, the idea--of justice.

And I think this is very timely, because this morning I also read an article about the shooting of children and teachers in Connecticut, and my stomach is hurting, oozing out tears.

Justice, indeed.  What does it even mean, in the face of such tragedy?

Isaiah says that God 'looked for justice, but saw bloodshed'; He 'looked for righteousness, but heard cries of distress'.

And in my heart, I rose up and said: 'God! Where is the bloodshed? Where are the cries of distress? Send me there!'

But in my reality, there I was still sitting in my chair.  Sitting in my chair, knowing that here is where I'm called to right now.  Thinking, 'How do I live out justice in my life, when bloodshed is not the reality in my daily walk, and when I've been taught to think that cries of distress occur only in third world countries, amid poverty, amid violence?'

What does it look like, to live in justice and righteousness--those things God is looking for in His people--what does it look like?

I go on with my morning, asking God this question.  I am saying to Him: I want to, but how?

And as I listen, I hear Him shift my perspective, to look at where He's put me, to see what's right in front of me.

I see inviting students into my home, during finals week, to feed them, to listen to their hearts, to say 'you're precious, you give me joy'.  I see rearranging my day to hang out with a friend's child, so that she can take care of pressing matters, when she's had a week that most of us cannot imagine the horror of.  I see reaching out to someone to say 'you're valuable', even when the message is not received, and the rejection feels like personal cost.  I see folding a housemate's laundry when she's had a long day.  I see being available for a friend's verbal processing, even when there are other things I need to do.  I see saying yes, when I'd rather say no.  I see looking for ways to love, by looking for the needs of the hearts around me.

I see:  It's in the deep places of our hearts that cries of distress live under the surface in more than one form.  Sometimes, those cries aren't even fully present, but are only seeds, waiting to decide which way they will grow. Watered with love, those seeds grow into fruit.  Watered with continual hurt, and the belief of being unseen? Bloodshed.

And so, suddenly, I receive the answer to my question: 

Justice in my life, it turns out, looks a lot like Love.

In my seeking for Christmas truth,  I discover that when Isaiah says that the coming One 'took up our infirmities', and  'carries our sorrows' he means that God's desire for Justice cannot be separated from His desire for Love. I discover that this is why it matters that Jesus is who he said he was, and this  is why Christmas is here.  Now.

Christmas, in my living room

So, it's the season known as Christmas.  [Have you heard?]  My Christmas began the day after Thanksgiving when I arrived home to housemates and friend, ready to head on out, for a little tree-cuttin'.

We walked the rows of a nearby tree farm,

 until we found it,

the perfect one.

[We knew it was the one,

because it was glowing.]

 We cut it down,

we loaded it up.

We brought it home,

with song [yes, there was a serenade...],

with laughs,

with love.

We all felt very good about it.

[Especially our wanna-be lumberjacks...]

After Noel left us to move on with his evening,

 we made some hot toddies and lit that baby up,

with ribbons, 

with JOY.

Christmas, here, in my living room!

Remember, this

This year, Thanksgiving dawned right around the time it always does, and I found myself in NJ, spending the day in the bosom of my family.  As the day rolled on, as I listened and observed, I thought about how when you're far away, you forget the little things that define the family you've always known.

And so, I found myself saying: 

Remember, this.

Remember the thoughtfully set table,

that dissolves into chaos without much provocation.

Remember the hilarity of the ever-present chatter, the insightful commentary of the cousin, the exclamations of my mother, 

the quiet smiles of my father,

the antics of the uncle and the giggles of the aunt,

the adorableness of our feisty little grandma 

and the booming laughter of the uncle eldest.

 Remember the food that speaks of us,

 the stuffing my mother snitches, the mashed potatoes we never eat, the pearled onions that are the legacy of the grandfather we miss, the butternut squash always added onto the menu by grandma just for me, even the pickle tray that used to speak of homemade pickles and now just speaks of memories;

the famous pumpkin pie originated by our great-grandmother, the extravagant graham-cracker-cream that originated somewhere we can never remember but always have to discuss.  

Remember the old stories that we tell,

and how we crack ourselves up;

 how we're Jersey in our bones, 

with our 'sawce' and our 'cuppa' coffee,

how we douse our cuppa with softened ice cream.

 Remember the napping of the men,

 and the fierce competitions in the lazy afternoon, 

after the table's been cleared and the kitchen cleaned, 

 while we wait for round two;

Remember round two: turkey sandwiches that we must eat no matter how full, pie, more coffee, more talking, more laughing, more loving being together.

Remember what makes us, remember what keeps us.
Remember, this.

Thankful, for this

Amy and Caleb and I hit the fall and barely saw each other enough to sit down and say:

Here's where my heart is these days.

And, since saying such things is crucial to how we have defined our little family, we decided to take the opportunity afforded us by a holiday week to make some food, to sit ourselves down, to have a sincere chat.

I arrived in the evening of a rather long day, and we put ourselves to work, enjoying the busyness of preparing a feast, enjoying the catching up that was spoken over the work.

We did our best to remain on task in our catching up, but found ourselves starving, waiting for everything to be complete.  

[We may have snitched...]

Soon enough, however, we were ready to go,

ready to indulge.

Then, stuffed, we retreated to the couches,

 to finish up our catching up,

to just enjoy the peace of being us, once again.

There's that HOL again...

Yes, it happens every Fall: Lisa and Geoff arrive with Frankie in tow, and we spend blissful moments, being, eating, talking, Hashing Out Life.

This year involved a request for rest; hence, we stayed close to home, and...rested.

Upon a late Friday/early Saturday arrival, we cuddled up in the piano room with hot toddies and immediate catching up.  When we reached incoherence, I tucked my guests into their basement home-away-from-home, where they proceeded to sleep until they were slept up.  They emerged to brunch, of the Fall kind: Pumpkin goodness and plenty of coffee.  We munched it all up, as Lisa lamented my lack of response to her request to follow me on Instagram.  When I explained to her this was a result of my lack of awareness of how to join in pop-culture more than an intentional rejection, she rushed to my side and helped me.

See?

Gradually we retreated from the table, got ourselves spiffed up, and headed outside for a photo shoot in my backyard.  

 I played photographer for awhile 

[stay tuned for L & G's Christmas photo]

 and then got in on the photogenicity.

 Frankie and I had a 'let's try to repair our relationship' moment,

but he's over me. 

[This is what I get for being such a callous heart breaker...]

Overall, the laughter and the sunshine was good for our resting,

and got us ready to head out into the real world,

in order to grab a spot of lunch at one of my favorite spots in town.

 We took the opportunity to browse,

and to reflect on the insistently repetitive and slightly ridiculous music being played for our browsing pleasure. 

[Given the one line played over and over again and the extent to which we discussed it's inanity, one would think I would remember it enough to document it here.....but, I can't.  Apparently my overloaded brain still needed more resting at this point in the day...]

 Eventually, we meandered over to the local cheese shop, so that I could knock over a few things [not fully rested, remember?]

and so L & G could get themselves a relaxing caffeinated beverage.

We then returned home, for Fall HOL tradition:

Margs, of our Margarita Master.

Relaxing in front of the fire, we continued our catching up, our hashing, our resting.

And then?

There were delicious appetizers while Geoff and I created:

the most spectacular meal.

We took a moment to inhale the aromas of the goods being stuffed into our mouths, and to remember: 

We are resting, together, and we are Thankful.

We finished off our night and our weekend with more of the same:  

Good food, good talking, good being.

And we rejoiced: January HOL is never far off!!