Happy Holy Days

Yesterday, I had the opportunity to volunteer in Noah's preschool class. As you can imagine, twenty excited kids the week before Christmas break can get a little crazy. At one point, as they were lining up for recess in a less-than-orderly fashion, the teacher said, "Remember who's watching you?!" as she pointed toward the classroom "Elf on a Shelf" perched above the circle area. "The elf!" said some kids. "Santa!" said others. But one little boy looked decidedly skeptical. "Elves aren't real!" he said with determination. "God is always watching us."

Boom! How do you answer THAT (in a public school classroom, no less?)  The teacher rolled with it, though, and quickly affirmed, "Yes, you're right, God is always watching, but right now we're trying to be extra good so the elves give a good report to Santa."

It's a fine line we walk at Christmastime, we who hold young hearts and minds in our hands. Before Noah was born, Mike and I debated over whether we would even do the Santa thing. He thought we should just focus on giving gifts to each other, but I couldn’t imagine Christmas without the magic and wonder of St. Nick making an appearance during the night.

As that moment at preschool illustrates, the conflation of cultural, commercial, and church traditions can make Christmas really confusing for kids. But it's not just the kids who are confused. There's quite a bit of media attention right now regarding the "War on Christmas" and how we can celebrate this time-honored religious holiday in an increasingly diverse and pluralistic society.

It all hints at complicated questions that reach far beyond Christmas and into the year-long issue of how to raise faithful children in a world where spirituality takes many forms and sometimes seems utterly absent. It’s a parenting struggle Mike and I have wrestled with from the beginning and I’m sure will be dealing with for many years to come.

I was thinking about this issue this morning as Sarah and I played with our Christmas play sets. For Noah's first Christmas, we got him a Fisher Price Little People Nativity Set. It was a lovely way to make the Christmas story accessible and fun for him (OK he was two months old at the time, but you know, we had high hopes that in the future it would be lovely). And indeed it is lovely and fun and a great way to talk and teach about the story of the first Christmas with little ones.

Then along came Sarah, (alas, poor second child!) and we were at a loss for that perfect first Christmas gift. We wanted to get her a special Christmas toy similar to the Nativity set, but there was nothing else especially religious we could find, so we went with the "Tree Lighting in Discovery Park" play set, which has a musical Christmas tree and little figures that can ice skate, sled and take carriage rides through the park.

This year, we got out both sets and put them next to each other in the playroom. It's not uncommon to see Baby Jesus going for a carriage ride or a snowman chatting up a camel or a Wise Man hitting the slopes on the little toboggan.

The happy mixing of the figurines is a good example of how we are creating Christmas traditions in our family. First and foremost, Christmas is about celebrating the birth of Jesus. But can there be joy in the secular traditions--Santa, elves, red-nosed reindeer, talking snowmen, etc--that have come to be part of the Christmas season too?

I think for our family, the answer is yes. I'm still working out how to walk that line between teaching our kids that the Elf on the Shelf does not have the same omniscient power as God while still leveraging the Santa card to encourage good behavior during December. But as I learned in preschool yesterday, maybe the key is to use those Christmas traditions, both secular and sacred, to remind our kids (and ourselves) why we celebrate this time of year.

Maybe the best I can do for right now is let the Wise Men go sledding.

In our house, we'll watch some of the classic Christmas specials, but we'll also watch the Veggie Tales St. Nicholas special about joyful giving. We'll buy gifts for each other, but try not to go overboard, and to focus on finding things our family will truly enjoy. We'll sing "Deck the Halls" (because you've gotta hear Sarah do the "fa la las," it's fantastic), but we'll also sing "Silent Night." We'll try our best to make these days both happy and holy, because that’s what the holidays--holy days--are all about.

Advent Confessional

Most of you know I’m a Lutheran pastor’s wife. I have a diverse, though entirely Protestant, faith history: My United Church of Christ mom and Berean Bible Church dad raised us in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) and now worship with an American Baptist church. Four years at Valparaiso University gradually transformed me from a reluctant Lutheran to a wholehearted liturgy-lover. But there’s one side of my faith life I’ve been keeping secret...until now.

I love Mary. There, I said it. Most of the year, I can keep it under wraps, but this Advent, I have to give Mary her due. I mean, she was definitely not your MTV-style Teen Mom. I’ve always been amazed at her (apparently) calm response to the angel: “I’m having a baby? He’s the Son of God? Yeah, ok, sounds good.” Kinda makes me wonder what else she said that didn’t quite make the cut...but regardless, I’ve admired this girl ever since I was a child myself.

There was a dear, sweet, lady named Rita who lived across the street from us when I was a child. She was my first babysitter after my parents moved to Kansas City from Indiana when I was 11 months old. As my brother and I grew, we spent a lot of time over at Rita’s house, which was right along our walk to and from school. She had a cherry tree in her backyard that we could climb, and one of those houses that is fascinating in the way old people’s houses are fascinating to children, worlds apart from the Fisher Price and playdoh that covered our playroom floor. There were cuckoo clocks and floral furniture and lots and lots of breakable things (we probably broke a few over the years). Her refreshments--diet soda and sugar-free lemon cookies--left a little to be desired to my 8-year-old self. But the best part about going to Rita’s house was playing the organ.

Rita was the organist at St. Ann’s, the Catholic church that bordered the park in our neighborhood. She had a small electric organ in her living room that was a source of endless delight for my brother and me. I don’t actually recall hearing her play the organ much, but I know she would always let us noodle around on it when we came over. Music was a big part of her life and her faith story, and she loved to share that with us.

I don’t recall exactly how old I was when Rita died, middle school maybe, but there’s one thing that I hold in my heart from that time. When she became ill, my mom was getting ready to visit her in the hospital. I’d been playing cello for a few years, and mom asked me if I’d do something special for Rita. She found the sheet music for the Schubert Ave Maria, helped me learn it, and tape recorded me playing it (remember cassette tapes??) so she could take it along for Rita to listen to.

I hadn’t taken Latin yet, or even met Jackie, my dear friend and source for all things Catholic in high school, so the words “Ave Maria” didn’t mean anything to me then. But the music--the language of the soul--that, I understood. To this day, I love to hear the Ave Maria sung, or play it on my cello, especially during the Christmas season.

That’s the time of year when, in the Protestant traditions, we tend to trot out Mary on her little donkey along with our Nativity scenes as we begin the Advent journey. She has her important (but interestingly, often silent) role in the Christmas pageant. Then there’s the Magnificat and its many beautiful arrangements to be sung in those 4 blue weeks of the church year. But once the Wise Men show up, Mary gets packed away and forgotten about, making a few brief appearances here and there, but mostly in the background of our Sunday morning stories.

The Roman Catholic church, on the other hand--well, I dare you to walk into one of those and try to forget about the Blessed Mother. She is not just part of the Christmas story. For many Catholics, honoring Mary is a part of their daily walk with God. And I get that. As a mother, I can especially relate to her and how she must have felt to be wiping Jesus’ blessed little bum a thousand times, and kissing his sacred scraped knees, and being terrified when he ran off in the crowd (In my version of the Bible, “Didn’t you know I would be in my father’s house?” is followed by Mary saying,“No, Jesus, I DIDN’T KNOW THAT, or else I wouldn’t have been tearing my HAIR OUT all this time LOOKING FOR YOU!!!”) Because, you know, she was a real mom and real moms yell, even at the Son of God. Or I’d like to think so, anyway.

The point being, I love Mary because I can wrap myself in her ubiquitous blue robe and just understand and feel and know the kind of love she experienced for Jesus, and through that, I can begin to understand a tiny bit the kind of love God feels for us. Overwhelming love of a newborn on your chest after a long, hard journey. Frustrated love when your child goes astray. Proud love when your child becomes the man you knew he could be. Heartbroken love when your baby is taken away too soon. Mary’s love is a mother’s love, and there’s nothing else in my life that has brought me closer to God than motherhood.

Don’t get me wrong--I love my Lutheran identity and all that it brings with it: churchy things like God’s unconditional grace, and everyday things like really amazing casseroles, quilts, and baked goods (and the church ladies behind them!) But if there’s one thing I think Catholics do really well, it is to dwell in the mysteries of faith.

Mysteries. Like how a poor teenage girl could be worthy to bear the savior of the world. Like how a piece of music on a scratchy cassette tape could bring comfort to a dying woman. Like how the incredible Love that is Jesus could and can and will break forth in our hearts in spite of our brokenness. Mysteries.

May you live in the Mystery this Advent season. Peace.

Wardrobe Malfunction

So I almost went to church without a shirt on yesterday.

OK technically I was wearing a tank top. But not exactly what you would consider "Sunday best."

Let me explain. Sunday mornings, I'm a single parent. My kids still have a wonderful, loving, and involved father, but being a pastor, he's just very much otherwise occupied with churchy things. So it's my job to get all of us ready, pack diaper/entertainment bags, prep for Sunday School or playing piano some weeks...you get the picture. Our house is about as Sabbath-like as LaGuardia on Sunday mornings.

Yesterday, I wanted to wear a sweater that I had just rescued from its summer home, neatly wrapped in tissue in my cedar chest. Or maybe it was wadded up on the top shelf of my closet since last February. One or the other. Anyway, it needed a little freshening up, so I tossed it in the dryer and proceeded to dress our barn cats in sweaters for a Christmas card picture. Just kidding, that would be easy. Really I was subjecting the kids to a unique form of torture that involved getting DRESSED. In actual CLOTHES. With BUTTONS. Evil, aren't I???

I made it as far as shoes before the first crisis. "They're too TIIIIIIIGHT!! Make it LOOSER!!! Noooooooo not like that, like the OTHER ONE!!! LOOSER!!!" We finally compromised with barely attached Velcro and moved on to Sarah's coat. Picture wrestling a 23-pound trout into an adorable purple puffy coat, only the trout has SHOES. And TEETH.

So that's done (never speak of it again!) I slide my shoes on, grab my coat...and realize I'm missing that elusive article of clothing, the aforementioned sweater. In the time it takes me to grab it from the dryer, Sarah poops (WHY did I put tights on her???) and Noah tries repeatedly to take himself to church (we live next door, so it's not like he stole the car keys, but still!)

We made it. In one piece. And dressed, more or less. As for surviving worship services with two small children...that's a post for another day, especially since I got off easy and pawned them off on kindhearted church members so I could play the piano yesterday. 

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to put pants on and go to play group. Have a great day :-)

After These Messages...

So I started this blog awhile ago...awhile like five birthdays, two children, one business, and several thousand cups of coffee ago. I'm bringing procrastination to a new level here, people--I'd tell you to join me but I know you'd all put off doing it and it would never happen. So I'll settle for hoping you stop by now and then to hear about what's going on in our crazy little family.

I'm getting back to posting--after my, um, let's call it a "leave of absence" because that sounds official and like I did it on purpose--because I genuinely missed writing. I've missed sharing stories from our family that are longer than a status update. I've missed the quiet click of laptop keys layered over the smell of coffee and the cheerful sound of Mickey Mouse raising my children for me. Most of all, I've missed the opportunities to connect my stories to your stories and the great big brutiful (brutal/beautiful--thank you Glennon over at Momastery) incredible Story that connects all of us.

A lot has changed since the cold February morning when I first posted to this blog. Three days after that post, we found out we were pregnant with Noah. So, you know, that was kind of a big deal. After he arrived, I shifted my focus from writing to being a mama, and also to building a little business teaching Kindermusik so he and all his sweet friends could have that opportunity to learn and grow together through music. Then there was Sarah, the child who had a mind of her own from the womb and took a little extra love and help to arrive safely. To sum up, life happened and I've been busy living it instead of writing about it!

Some things haven't changed much, though. We are still blessed every day to be a part of two loving and joyful faith communities at Zion and Immanuel Zion. We have learned a lot more about country life, farming, and driving on gravel in all kinds of weather, yet we still have to ask a lot of questions and learn to wrap our minds around ways of living that are so different from the way we were raised. Our visits with extended family are always too few and far between. But our hearts are full, and we are thankful.

Stay tuned...I may actually post again! Don't get your hopes up. I'm just saying, it's a possibility. I think I need more coffee first...