A
couple of left over thoughts from this past holiday weekend.
....It’s now midweek. I’ve been back to work post-Christmas since Monday. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t turn down another day off to recover from having 4 days off just before that. Why is it we work so hard to get a few days off, but end up working just as hard during our days off? Off Thursday and Friday, I hardly noticed; there were last minute errands to run, a Christmas Eve service, and some housekeeping details to manage and complete all before Christmas Day, which I guess was Saturday. I guess, because by then the days had started running together. Sunday was no vacation day either. I’ll explain later.
.....We hosted Amy's family for Christmas. This was all good because it meant I didn't have to go anywhere for a change. But it's been so long since we weren't the invitees, I forgot what it’s like being the inviter; staying home has its own set of challenges. Preparing for company coming is not for the faint at heart. But I will tell you this: our house never looks as good as it does right before guests arrive. And it probably won't look that way again till next time we have a house full. But by 11:00 Christmas morning, our domicile was spic and span, spit and polished and ready for the masses.
....I'm sick of turkey. Every holiday dinner, it’s always turkey, turkey, more turkey, and then turkey leftovers. So this year, being the home team, we decided to go non-traditional and have the always yuletide inspiring lasagna and garlic bread as our Christmas feast this year. And though I'm not terribly useful in the kitchen, I ‘volunteered’ my culinary talents, boiling the noodles and, with a hand-cranked cheese grater, grinding up a pound of mozzarella, too. Amy cooked the meat and layered in the sauce and some spinach. I also set the table. It was good, too; certainly better than the tried and true stuffed bird. And if I have my way, we'll have it again next Christmas.
.....Being able to have her family in our home on Christmas Day, though it only came about because I refused to travel anywhere this year, made Amy happy-- which made me happy because, at last, my stubbornness for once, produces a good outcome for a change. Yay!
....But later Christmas night, a huge crash startled us out of a sound sleep. Instantly awakened, we simultaneously had the same reaction: "What was that?" Okay, that's what Amy said. I may have phrased it, "What the hell was that?", because it sounded like a meteor had crashed through the roof. I don't scare easy, either, but with unknown chaos so close by, the situation seemed ripe for an alarmed expletive. And for a few minutes it did feel like my heart was going to detach itself from my chest in a heightened attempt to flee my body. So with the wrath of God apparently being visited on our sleepy little house, I think I did well to contain myself to, “What the hell was that?”
....It’s now midweek. I’ve been back to work post-Christmas since Monday. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t turn down another day off to recover from having 4 days off just before that. Why is it we work so hard to get a few days off, but end up working just as hard during our days off? Off Thursday and Friday, I hardly noticed; there were last minute errands to run, a Christmas Eve service, and some housekeeping details to manage and complete all before Christmas Day, which I guess was Saturday. I guess, because by then the days had started running together. Sunday was no vacation day either. I’ll explain later.
.....We hosted Amy's family for Christmas. This was all good because it meant I didn't have to go anywhere for a change. But it's been so long since we weren't the invitees, I forgot what it’s like being the inviter; staying home has its own set of challenges. Preparing for company coming is not for the faint at heart. But I will tell you this: our house never looks as good as it does right before guests arrive. And it probably won't look that way again till next time we have a house full. But by 11:00 Christmas morning, our domicile was spic and span, spit and polished and ready for the masses.
....I'm sick of turkey. Every holiday dinner, it’s always turkey, turkey, more turkey, and then turkey leftovers. So this year, being the home team, we decided to go non-traditional and have the always yuletide inspiring lasagna and garlic bread as our Christmas feast this year. And though I'm not terribly useful in the kitchen, I ‘volunteered’ my culinary talents, boiling the noodles and, with a hand-cranked cheese grater, grinding up a pound of mozzarella, too. Amy cooked the meat and layered in the sauce and some spinach. I also set the table. It was good, too; certainly better than the tried and true stuffed bird. And if I have my way, we'll have it again next Christmas.
.....Being able to have her family in our home on Christmas Day, though it only came about because I refused to travel anywhere this year, made Amy happy-- which made me happy because, at last, my stubbornness for once, produces a good outcome for a change. Yay!
....But later Christmas night, a huge crash startled us out of a sound sleep. Instantly awakened, we simultaneously had the same reaction: "What was that?" Okay, that's what Amy said. I may have phrased it, "What the hell was that?", because it sounded like a meteor had crashed through the roof. I don't scare easy, either, but with unknown chaos so close by, the situation seemed ripe for an alarmed expletive. And for a few minutes it did feel like my heart was going to detach itself from my chest in a heightened attempt to flee my body. So with the wrath of God apparently being visited on our sleepy little house, I think I did well to contain myself to, “What the hell was that?”
Of
course, the last thing I did before going to sleep was finish a few more
chapters in a book with a plot that involves many undefinable man-eating
mammals doing many disgusting and gruesome things to their prey. So I
was probably in the middle of a bad dream when the thing that went bump in the
night woke us up. I was probably doubly full of fight-or-flight adrenaline; serves
me right for reading scary fiction novels at bedtime. Glad I didn’t pee my
pants. Wouldn’t that have been a nice
mess to try and get relaxed and comfy in again?
Turns out, though, the noise was just the clothes rack in the bedroom closet falling. The plastic end holding it to the wall suddenly split (why it chose 2:18 in the morning to do so is anyone's guess). When it did, though, it brought the whole thing ka-thunking to the ground, rack, clothes and all, crashing into several objects on the way to the floor and making a terrible nocturnal commotion. But that's all it was. No big deal.
Of course, sleep didn't find me again till almost sunrise because I haven't been that spooked in the deep dark of night since seeing "Jurassic Park". That caused a nightmare in which I was being chased and nearly eaten by dinosaurs, and waking me at 3 a.m. in a panicked cold sweat. That night terror was so vivid I made enough noise that I woke Amy up. I didn't go back to sleep that night either
.....The next day, Sunday, (and I know it was Sunday because we went to church in the morning) we traveled down to Roseville for Christmas with my side of the family. As alluded to earlier I was fairly worn out from the previous day's activities, not to mention the overnight uproar, and would've preferred a nice afternoon nap. But I was good. I sucked it up, shut up and caused little fuss. It was actually fine, too; low stress, no problems. Made me feel a little guilty for wishing I could've stayed home.
The only really difficult part was when Dad said grace around the dining room table. With our heads bowed, he thanked the Lord for giving him three good Christian kids that he's very proud of. It was sweet and sincere, and it's always nice to hear your parent say things like that out loud. But I couldn't help thinking about this year, and years past, when I've been anything but a good Christian- all the times I’ve let my wife down, my friends and family and even co-workers down. The mistakes of recent history and the sins of my youth. No, truth be told, I haven't done much to make Dad, or anyone else, very proud.
I even question my own faith or, sometimes, the lack of it. And when I do, I can almost imagine God looking down at His often confused child and just sigh and shake His head. I keep buying you books, but you only look at the pictures. I may talk a good game and some days I might even do okay, but I really don't have this Christ-like life down pat yet; far from it. Not to be preachy- because I've got no business preaching to anybody- but if it'd disappoint my earthly father to know all the stupid things I've done, my Heavenly Father does know about all those stupid things and is likely disappointed even more.
But when I was little and messed things up, Dad would many times give me a second chance. And though still flawed, I now serve a God of many second chances; hundreds, thousands, probably millions of 'em. All undeserved. And maybe that's the little slice of Christmas I've been overlooking while in the hurricane of all this hustling and bustling, getting stuff done and just getting through life. If today, this week, this year I've failed somewhere or something or somebody, I'll get a second chance- tomorrow, next week, next year.
But that's the gift. God’s gift. And I almost missed it. It took Dad's prayer and a nudge to my guilty conscious, but on the last day of the crazy 4-day holiday weekend, I finally stumbled across the one tangible reminder of what Christmas is really all about: I'm loved, I'm forgiven. I found my Christmas. Or it found me.
Turns out, though, the noise was just the clothes rack in the bedroom closet falling. The plastic end holding it to the wall suddenly split (why it chose 2:18 in the morning to do so is anyone's guess). When it did, though, it brought the whole thing ka-thunking to the ground, rack, clothes and all, crashing into several objects on the way to the floor and making a terrible nocturnal commotion. But that's all it was. No big deal.
Of course, sleep didn't find me again till almost sunrise because I haven't been that spooked in the deep dark of night since seeing "Jurassic Park". That caused a nightmare in which I was being chased and nearly eaten by dinosaurs, and waking me at 3 a.m. in a panicked cold sweat. That night terror was so vivid I made enough noise that I woke Amy up. I didn't go back to sleep that night either
.....The next day, Sunday, (and I know it was Sunday because we went to church in the morning) we traveled down to Roseville for Christmas with my side of the family. As alluded to earlier I was fairly worn out from the previous day's activities, not to mention the overnight uproar, and would've preferred a nice afternoon nap. But I was good. I sucked it up, shut up and caused little fuss. It was actually fine, too; low stress, no problems. Made me feel a little guilty for wishing I could've stayed home.
The only really difficult part was when Dad said grace around the dining room table. With our heads bowed, he thanked the Lord for giving him three good Christian kids that he's very proud of. It was sweet and sincere, and it's always nice to hear your parent say things like that out loud. But I couldn't help thinking about this year, and years past, when I've been anything but a good Christian- all the times I’ve let my wife down, my friends and family and even co-workers down. The mistakes of recent history and the sins of my youth. No, truth be told, I haven't done much to make Dad, or anyone else, very proud.
I even question my own faith or, sometimes, the lack of it. And when I do, I can almost imagine God looking down at His often confused child and just sigh and shake His head. I keep buying you books, but you only look at the pictures. I may talk a good game and some days I might even do okay, but I really don't have this Christ-like life down pat yet; far from it. Not to be preachy- because I've got no business preaching to anybody- but if it'd disappoint my earthly father to know all the stupid things I've done, my Heavenly Father does know about all those stupid things and is likely disappointed even more.
But when I was little and messed things up, Dad would many times give me a second chance. And though still flawed, I now serve a God of many second chances; hundreds, thousands, probably millions of 'em. All undeserved. And maybe that's the little slice of Christmas I've been overlooking while in the hurricane of all this hustling and bustling, getting stuff done and just getting through life. If today, this week, this year I've failed somewhere or something or somebody, I'll get a second chance- tomorrow, next week, next year.
But that's the gift. God’s gift. And I almost missed it. It took Dad's prayer and a nudge to my guilty conscious, but on the last day of the crazy 4-day holiday weekend, I finally stumbled across the one tangible reminder of what Christmas is really all about: I'm loved, I'm forgiven. I found my Christmas. Or it found me.
Either
way, for today anyway, I'm at peace.
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