Death, be not proud, though some have called thee/ Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so ;/ For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,/ Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me./ From rest and sleep, which but thy picture[s] be,/ Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,/ And soonest our best men with thee do go,/ Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery./ Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,/ And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,/ And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,/ And better than thy stroke ; why swell'st thou then ?/ One short sleep past, we wake eternally,/ And Death shall be no more ; Death, thou shalt die.
~Holy Sonnet X, John Donne

Saturday, November 27, 2010

I've Got the Joy, Joy, Joy, Joy Down in My Heart

Well, Thanksgiving is now past, and it's nearly time for Christmas.

I feel mixed things during this time of year, many of them good, healthy, somewhat expected, but some I'm not sure where to place. It's sort of a warm-fuzziness with a little heart-tugging and shame thrown in.

Maybe it's all part of getting older. You realize what a complete scumbag you are, more and more, and the feeling that: "Wow, maybe I don't deserve any of the things God's given me, and neither does that guy over there; remind me why God cares again?"

The way God does things is always the opposite of what we think makes sense. He orchestrates things perfectly, but so damn strangely. Man & God? One body? One nature? Couldn't He make it some superhuman-otherworldy-but-something-less-than-*all*-He-is "being" that could save the world from an invasion of sin by shooting lasers from his eyes? At least we could categorize that somewhere in our minds, even fit it in our minds at all.

But no. He had to do this the hard way.

Disclaimer: I'm not dissing God's methods. I just wish it could be on my level. On my turf. Something I can understand. Something I could maybe, in 1000 years, deserve. ever...

The feeling of utter helplessness is not something I'm comfortable with. I really hate it. To put it quite frankly: yes, I do hear the Christmas angels, and you know what? I just threw up in my mouth. You don't see it, but oh, it's there. Even my lungs feel pretty deflated, and I need a blanket & pjs just to see straight. Let's watch A Charlie Brown Christmas, eh? Maybe then I could stop thinking about my total worthlessness and think about trees and kids and other stuff.

But I love the traditions of Christmas: putting up the tree, eating good food, seeing family, giving/receiving gifts (yes, both, not just giving), and fudge. How hard is it though, to love those things? Comfort food and free stuff? Um, yes please, I'll take lots.

It's what makes all these things even possible, what started it off in the first place, that's gut-wrenchingly real. And so very, very disconcerting.

For years I've tried to iron out the lump-in-the-throat when I sing "O Come, O Come Emmanuel". I know I need a Savior, but do I want one? No way. Keep it. It's too complicated. Well, the way God did it. So overrated. I know, I know, it's essential, but really? God can do whatever He wants; why make me feel like complete and utter shit in the process of saving me? Can't we do this without the guilt trip?

No.

Years ago, I wrote a poem based on one of my favorite verses:

"For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face."
-1 Corinthians 13:12

The extremities of that moment
will overcome me:
the darkness of me,
the white light of Him.
And if I have not God to stand on,
I know I shall fall.
And that descent will
never end...
Lift me up, if it is your will Lord.
Let me be part of your story,
even the worm on it's belly,
slowly crawling back for forgiveness.
But I am that already, aren't I?
Then make me who you will.
I add 'Amen'.

9-9-2008

(Overlooking the crappy poetry):

For an instant, maybe I got it.

Christmas is not about comfort.

Christmas, the time for hot chocolate, slippers, red noses & furry sweaters, is not about comfort.

It's about stretching, pulling, squeezing, pinching, stuffing, moving, wiggling, twitching, sniffing, spasmodic, absolutely beautiful grace.

So what if you aren't a saint?

So what if you do feel like crap and your self-worth just went to the moon?

There's so much more than comfort... so much more than feeling warm & fuzzy...

"Stop it. Stop being so comfortable," God says.

What can we ever have that's completely and wholly precious that we can attain through being comfortable?

This truth, the truth that God came to us and became one of us (and if you don't think I didn't just shout that, oh, you're sorely mistaken) is so mind-bogglingly unreal.

And the most beautiful thing I've ever heard...

So, get out of your comfort zone, Bel. Start wrestling with it. Try to cram it into your mind, just see what happens... Fireworks is an understatement. Joy? Pure, unadulterated, absolute joy? Yep. We're talking big stuff here.

Here's to more hot chocolate,
here's to more Christmas movies,
here's to more fudge (of course!):
Cheers!

"10 But the angel said to them, 'Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. 11Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. 12 This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.'

13 Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

14 'Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.'"

-Luke 2: 10-14

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