Oh, Honey!

 

There is an equity problem.  It has always been there for 42 years.  You’d think I would be used to it by now . . . but it still gets under my skin.  The problem?  The wife’s expectations when I have “time off”.  You might equate it to a “honey do” list.  Whatever you want to call it, it raises its ugly head whenever I have “time off”.

You guessed it . . . I have “time off” from the university between Christmas and New Year’s Day.  With the “time off” comes the “honey do” list, my whining, and the ultimate guilt trip that accompanies it all.  Let the holidays begin!

 

Why is this an “equity” problem?  Now you might be thinking that the wife and I have a “tit for tat” relationship.  A “give or take” agreement.  What is good for the goose is good for the gander.  You’d think that if the wife had time off I would create a “honey do” list full of expected tasks I want her to complete.  I can assure you that I do not!  I tried it once.  That was a mistake that nearly cost me my life as I was reminded that a “woman’s work is never done.”  It was traumatic enough that I resisted presenting a “honey do” list to the wife when she has time off.  I’ve lived a longer life because of that restraint.

 

With “time off” comes the expectations.  For example, this being the Christmas season, I should take all the Christmas decorations down—including the tree.  Christmas decorating is way beyond my pay scale.  Not that I didn’t try in the beginning.  I did.  After a while I realized that the wife was placating me . . . tolerating my efforts at decorating.  Whatever I did decorate was rearranged and prefaced with, “Don’t you think it would better like this?”  In this, too, I learned to keep my mouth shut when what I really wanted to say was, “No, if it was, I would have done it that way in the first place.”  Again, it is better to pick your battles and live another day . . . not to fight, but to live.

 

Taking down Christmas is the big expectation while I am off.  The wife drops hints all the time.  I’m off.  Yet, I assure you . . . I watched the little missus decorate our humble abode.  I watched it for hours. Yes, hours.  I know that it took hours to decorate and in turn it will take hours to undecorate.  Hours of my freedom I do not want to lose.  My first thought is to throw a blanket over the tree and move it to a corner of the living room where no one will notice it.  As I see it, it is killing two birds with one stone.  This never flies.  It must come down, be placed in the correct boxes, and hauled to the basement to be stored for another year.

 

I will also stall.  This is where I attempt to trump her with our theological education as ministers.  I try to throw the ecclesiastical card into the fray.  Christmas isn’t over for 12 days—thus the Twelve Days of Christmas song.  Using the ecclesiastical calendar, Christmas begins on Christmas Eve and ends 12 days later on January 5^th with the start of the season of Epiphany.  It is sacrilegious to undecorate before Christmas is over.  God might get mad and plague humanity with a slew of fruitcake.

 

That argument is a 50/50 proposition.  Half the time the wife just uses her look of disgust and reminds me that 12 days later it is going to come down . . . fruitcake plague or not.  The expectation is that it is coming down and coming down on my time.

 

You would think I know better about taking time off during the holidays.  I guess I am a slow learner.  The expectations of the “honey do” list are immense . . . and, not to mention, time consuming.  Make the ed.  Empty the trash.  Empty and load the dishwasher.  Make the backyard poop-free.  Pick up the dog toys. Entertain the dogs.  Pick up the dog toys again.  Cull our library of books.  Clean the bathroom.  Cook dinner.  Load up the dishwasher again.  Pay the bills.  Fix all the broken things in the house.  Ya da, ya da, ya da . . . the list goes on and on.  I’m exhausted just thinking about it.

 

And it doesn’t “feel” fair.  Just because I am the one off why should I pick up the load by myself?  Granted many of these tasks are usually done by both of us.  And the wife is working this week with a short staff meaning more work for her.  I should be the considerate spouse, buckle up, keep my mouth shut and do what needs to be done.  I should ease the load of my wife’s burdens this week.  Yes, I should.

 

But it SUCKS!

 

Why should I be the “good guy” . . . the “nice guy”?  Maybe I want to be a jerk and ignore it all . . . but I can’t.  I will break down and do it all.  I will do it, but not without a fight or at least a whimper.  A fight might get me killed, but a whimper will probably be tolerated.  Yeah, the wife can handle a whimper.  After all, we are both parents.  As parents our children have taught us well.

 

As the kids were growing up, they fought having to do the chores around the house.  The wife and I never asked them to do anything that would kill them.  We never asked them to paint the house or take out the transmission on the car.  No, we asked them to do simple things, like clean their rooms.  A simple request.  The reaction was nothing short of a nuclear explosion.  The moaning and groaning would start.  The gnashing of teeth.  The rolling of eyes.  The debate and arguments would commence.  The whining.  It was terrible.  Then the kids would start up.

 

Typically, it takes an hour to clean a bedroom.  One hour.  With the show that the kids put on it would take two hours to a whole day. I’d point out that the longer they fought it, the longer it would take.  It was their time they were wasting.

 

Yup, you got it.  This blog is that lamenting time I am putting in before I buckle down and do the “honey do” list.  Yeah, I know, I’m wasting my time . . . not the wife’s time, but it is such a dramatic and powerful tribute to my children.  They raised me well.

 

Thankfully my wife is patient.  She is kind.  Tolerant.  She knows she has me between a rock and a hard place.  She will win.  I know that.  She knows that.  I will comply because I want to live.  What good is “time off” if I am dead?  The wife tells me that is a fair trade-off.  Tells me that it is equitable.  She gets the list done.  I get to live.  After 42 years you would think I get it.  

Traveling Mercies

At least I can say that I survived.

I survived the brief period of respite in the busy lives of my family as they all gathered at the homestead for the observance of Christmas.  They were all here . . . all ten of us, plus three dogs . . . crowded around the kitchen table, telling stories, laughing, arguing, stuffing their faces, and having a grand ol’ time reconnecting and being family.  And, I survived.

The youngest son, our daughter-in-law, and granddog made the long trek north from Salt Lake City the Friday before Christmas to spend some time with their Montana family . . . brothers and sister, brother-in-law, nieces, and of course the wife and I.  They made their base camp at the homestead where we all gathered multiple times throughout the week to break bread, have a few brews, a few bottles of wine, and make a lot of noise.  It was a blast having them and the rest of the family gathered . . . and, I survived.

This morning the youngest and his spouse packed up and headed south to beat the incoming storm . . . headed south to return where they work and play . . . to where they call “home”.  The weather forecast was predicting a storm coming from the northwest . . . pretty much over the route that they were going to be driving to get home.  Out the door they went as the sun was rising to beat the storm on roads still recovering from the previous winter’s blast of two days ago . . . one that left their route less than desirable for travel.  The kids and granddog said their goodbyes, loaded up, and headed down the road.

As they drove down the street . . . the quietness returned . . . the stillness returned . . . and, it was over.  The Christmas celebration and reunion was over.  Everyone had begun their journey back to reality . . . back to so-called normalness . . . and, I had survived much to the chagrin of the rest of the family.

In the quietness of the day I have caught myself wandering around the stillness of the house.  The Christmas music is still playing . . . the lights are still shining brightly from the free . . . the snow has provided a blanket of beauty across the yard where Morris the Moose shines on in the approaching darkness . . . and, yet, there is a restlessness that stirs me to wander in the quiet stillness of the house . . . I am thinking of my family—near and far.  Isn’t that what happens when the noise of the celebration ceases and the quietness descends . . . we contemplate, we think, we wonder, and we offer a prayer.

The informal belief in our family is that “family is all that we have”, and because it is all that we have we have to love and support one another in the journey of life . . . for better or worse.  As a family we succeed fairly well for the most part even though there are some parts that we still need to work on . . . a few relationships that need to be mended and re-established . . . a little more grace and a little less animosity . . . and, I imagine that in time it will come or I will die—whichever comes first.  But, for the most part we do a good job of being a family . . . about as good as anyone.  Yet it is in this belief that we cling tightly to one another . . . in the good times and in the bad times . . . to love and support one another despite the fact that each of us is on our own journeys to be who God created us to be . . . to be ourselves in a world that would rather we all be carbon copies of one another.  Thus we cling and hold on tightly to one another because we care . . . because we love one another.

With the crunching of the car’s tires going down the street, the children left.  Quietness descended . . . and the immensity of the whole thing overwhelmed me . . . what an awesome responsibility any of us has when we are a part of a family.  Despite enjoying the quiet stillness of the homestead after the Christmas tsunami, I miss them all.  Our Christmas gathering was a wonderful respite in the journeys that each of us are on . . . a wonderful break from all the noise of the world around us . . . a joyful occasion to break bread, drink a little wine, tells stories, to laugh, and to bask in the warmth of a family’s love. 

But, life must go on.  We all must pack up our belongings from the respite of family gathering and head back into the reality of our own journeys.  There are jobs to be done.  Children to be raised.  Relationships to be worked on.  Dreams to dream.  Doctor’s appointments.  Bills to be paid.  Choices to make.  Each of our journeys takes us down the paths of life--some well-traveled, some not even blazed—in different directions.  Some will draw us closer, but others will draw us further apart.  Some will be easy, some quite difficult.  There will be victories and defeats.  These are journeys that we have to make in order to discover who we are . . . what our purpose is . . . and, to dream the big dreams.  Often we must make them alone.  We all have to go back to the journey.

I am amazed at the journeys of the members of my family . . . amazed at the resilience of each and every one of them.  Amazed that they have rejoiced in the good times and ridden the waves of the difficult times.  I stand in awe of them each carving out their own paths through life.  Amazed at their dreams . . . and, honored that they allow the wife and I to be a part of the stories that are being lived and written. 

And, so, it makes me contemplate in this quiet stillness . . . I think of how much I love them . . . I think about how much I want to succeed in their pursuits . . . I think about their happiness . . . I think about their safety.  Above all things I want them to be safe . . . safe, because the journey of life is not for the faint-hearted.  It can be hard and dangerous.  As the youngest and his wife pulled away . . . in the quietness of the house . . . I uttered a simple prayer: “Traveling mercies.”

I uttered it for all my family . . . wherever they might be . . . “traveling mercies.”  Yeah, I survived the family onslaught . . . the family celebration and gathering; but, thanks to the words of “traveling mercies” said for me throughout my life, I have also survived the journey thus far.  That is my desire and wishes for all my family . . . that God may surround them all in their journeys and keep them safe.

We all need a little “traveling mercy” in our lives . . . in our journeys.

The Christmas Blues

I have never handled Christmas well.  The wife and the rest of the family would probably say that I am related to the Grinch of Dr. Seuss fame . . . but, I really don’t have a heart that is three sizes too small . . . I think that I have a heart that is fairly normal, but overwhelmed . . . so overwhelmed that it cannot handle the holiday season because it makes my heart ache.

It is probably just the introvert in me.  Christmas is an extroverted sort of a holiday.  It has been the “hot topic” for more than a month now . . . closer to six to eight weeks depending on whether or not you go with the retail world’s after Halloween onslaught or the more tradition creeping into Thanksgiving . . . calling for people to get up and party hardy . . . to mingle and mosey . . . to gather and celebrate . . . the more, the merrier.  Christmas is filled with gathering . . . the gathering of families, friends, congregations, communities, and just about any person that can be pulled off the street.   Christmas, as it has come to be, is a “get in your face” sort of holiday filled with people . . . lots of people.  An introvert’s worse nightmare.  Christmas seems to scream at you.  After a while it kind of overwhelms me.

Christmas is noisy.  Between all of the blaring holiday music and the advertisements screaming at us . . . it gets pretty loud.  Christmas is flashy.  There are all the light displays decorating houses and neighborhoods, blaring their music, and flashing colorful displays of holiday cheer.  It almost gets to be blinding.  Christmas is extravagant . . . almost a competition . . . seeing who can one-up the other.  It is almost more than one can handle . . . overwhelming.

Throw into the mix the whole secular versus religious battle of Christmas and it just gets more and more convoluted.  The arguments abound between whether “Jesus is the reason for the season” or if it is just another holiday with a jolly fat man in a red suit delivering gifts to those who can afford them.  Both sides shout  . . . no scream . . . at each other that their side is the correct way to celebrate the holiday, whether or not it is politically correct.  Neither side listens very well . . . and, well, it gets to be a little overwhelming having to decide between the purity of the Virgin Birth and stuffing the stocking full of gifts.  Shoot . . . both sides are a little ridiculous and thin-skinned.  Often this debate does not reflect well on those who call themselves the followers of Jesus . . . not very loving or understanding . . . especially when Jesus himself calls us to embrace our neighbors in their diversity and differences.  My heart grows weary of the constant arguing.

As a traditionalist, I have always been amazed at the ferocious embrace Christmas by those who call themselves Christians.  They act as if this is the defining point of the faith story . . . and, yet, give little credence to the fact that it is the final transition into the final movement of God’s love that is culminated in the cross and resurrection of Easter.  Easter is the defining moment of the Christian journey of faith . . . not Christmas.  Yet, the “church” continues to jump on the bandwagon of Christmas as that defining moment of faith . . . blind to the movement of God in the lives of humanity.  It overwhelms my heart that we miss the fact that Christmas is the opening of the door of the journey and story that never ends.  Christmas is not the end in itself . . . it is just the beginning.

Christmas is overwhelming for me . . . as a pastor and as an individual.  My heart is not three sizes too small.  No, my heart is quite normal.  In the movie American Beauty one of the characters is a young man who is quite unique and different in comparison to the other characters in the story.  One of his hobbies is filming things in his life using a small video recorder.  In one scene he shares a video with his next door neighbor—his girlfriend.  It is a film of a plastic trash bag being blown around in the wind . . . practically dancing in the wind’s current.

Ricky describes the scene:  “It was one of those days when it's a minute away from snowing and there's this electricity in the air, you can almost hear it. Right? And this bag was just dancing with me. Like a little kid begging me to play with it. For fifteen minutes. That's the day I realized that there was this entire life behind things, and this incredibly benevolent force that wanted me to know there was no reason to be afraid, ever. Video's a poor excuse, I know. But it helps me remember... I need to remember... Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world, I feel like I can't take it, and my heart is just going to cave in.”

It is overwhelming.

Ricky says it best: “Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world, I feel like I can't take it, and my heart is just going to cave in.”

I am not the Grinch.  My heart is not three sizes too small.  I am overwhelmed . . . especially as an introvert . . . with the immensity of this holiday season we call Christmas.  The “gift” of Christmas . . . whether secular or religious . . . focuses on love . . . focuses on time.  Yet, so often, we miss the point of Christmas . . . we lose it in all of the glittery wrapping, the flashing lights, the blaring music, and the “ho, ho, ho” of the moment.  We are blind to what really matters . . . that time with those we love . . . the quiet lull when our hearts are filled beyond words or expression . . . that moment when a tear blinds us to what we are seeing through the eyes of others that we love.  It swells the heart . . . it is overwhelming.

Overwhelmed . . . I retreat.  I retreat to that quiet place . . . trying to handle the tsunami of emotions that flood my heart.  I retreat to find solid ground upon which to find my footing to enable me to stand within the world of the extrovert and be present with those around me.  It is not always easy . . . sometimes, out of fear, I am defensive . . . I seem cold or indifferent.  But, I am not . . . I am overwhelmed.

The fact is that I have never handle Christmas well.

So, I apologize for the fact that I am not the “ho, ho, ho” sort of person that one expects during the Christmas season.  I apologize because it is difficult to embrace the extroverted nature of the holiday season that overwhelms me with it extravagant beauty.  My heart cannot handle such a flood of awesomeness without time to process and understand it.  It is not that I do not love Christmas in its vast beauty . . . but, it is more than I can handle in one sitting.  Forgive me if I seem stand-offish or distant . . . forgive me if I seem indifferent, that is not my intention . . . I am overwhelmed.

I am overwhelmed . . . overwhelmed until I can pause in the quietness of my world to discern that moment when all those cosmic tumblers fall into place and I am in the presence of what Christmas truly means.  It happens every year. 

Sometimes it is in the quiet singing of the congregation gathered in candlelight singing Silent Night, Holy Night.  Sometimes it happens while sitting with the family around the kitchen table after the Christmas Eve service, eating food, laughing, and just basking in the gentleness of the moment.  Sometimes it happens as I watch my oldest granddaughter opening her presents and yelping with glee as she receives her umpteenth stuffed toy . . . just seeing the happiness and joy on her face.  Sometimes it happens well after everyone has gone to bed and I am lying in bed, having difficulty falling to sleep because I have been overwhelmed with family, friends, gifts, food, and laughter.  Sometimes it just comes in the quietness of a time when I am by myself.

And, when it happens . . . I cannot help but to shed a tear or two.  My heart is not too small, it is just not big enough to handle the immensity of the love I feel.  It happens every Christmas.  In all honesty, I do not think that it is just an “introvert” problem . . . in all honesty, if we would be that with ourselves, I think it is a problem we all have.  Christmas is overwhelming.  But, you know what, even as an introvert it is good to know that I am not alone. 

That is the message of Christmas . . . we are never alone.