Revisiting an Advent Prayer

 I have read the story hundreds of times. It never grows old. I have committed it to memory where it lingers and provides renewal and refreshment to my heart at the most opportune of times. Sometimes the words rise unbidden to the forefront of my mind where they replay like a poem or song that makes my heart want to sing...

       "And it came to pass in those days...that Joseph went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, unto the city of David, which is Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David..."

You know the rest of the story as well as I do. You know the cadence of the words and the inherent poetry and beauty of the language itself and the special way that the story tells us at once so very much and so very little of what really happened that night.

I learned something new about the story today. Our pastor was talking about the shepherds, and he likened their social status at that time to that of the gypsy, the migrant worker, the undocumented immigrant, or the homeless. The shepherds existed within Jewish society as a people without a voice. They had no legal status whatsoever and were considered so unreliable that they were forbidden by law to give testimony in court. They were never allowed to worship at the Temple because their occupation rendered them ceremonially unclean. In the pecking order of the Jews, they were the lowest of the low. In fact, they did not count, and they did not have to participate in the required census. They were quintessential nobodies.

Now here comes the irony.

The first witnesses, the first to receive the message, the first to come and worship, the first to spread the Good News, the first to "see" the Messiah were the very least of all in the kingdom of heaven.

Think about it.

Christ brought a revolutionary gospel, a revolutionary upheaval to the old order, and He taught us a revolutionary way to love and to live.

And he began with the nobodies. He did not begin with those in authority: the kings or the priests or the rulers. He did not seek out the rich and the powerful. He did not even seek the Wise Men. They sought Him.

I am just beginning to work all of this through in my head...and it is leading me to ask myself who and what do I worship when I am not engaging my head and my heart with the Lord? What draws my heart? What occupies my thinking? What else besides the gospel captivates me?

I am afraid it is not very pretty. I am afraid it is petty and selfish. I know the things that charm me most when my heart is not immersed in the gospel are things that are really of little value at all.

I so want to be a shepherd. I so want to be willing to leave it all in the field of my life and say to my family and those with whom I am in community ..."Let us now go even unto Bethlehem,and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known to us."

I want to kneel on that rough and filthy floor and offer to Him all that I am and all that I have. I want Christmas made new in my heart.

This is my Advent prayer.

from the archives

Booklovers Haven

    

   What? A city that calls itself the "Athens of the South" has no independent bookstore? You have got to be kidding! Thankfully, Parnassus has changed all that...
    With the demise of Davis-Kidd, Nashvillians had been woefully missing what I like to call a "browsing" bookstore, and we all know a city of our size simply must have one. Although we are not totally bereft (we do have the delightful purveyor of used books, Bookman/Bookwoman down in Hillsboro Village, Rhino Booksellers near Lipscomb and the warehouse-like McKay's off of Charlotte), most of the book addicts I know have been waiting with bated breath for the much anticipated opening of Parnassus. Local author Ann Patchett (Run, Bel Canto, Patron Saint of Liars, et al) has partnered with a friend, Karen Hayes, to open this smallish but just right little shop around the corner in the heart of Green Hills.
    Do yourself a favor and stop by. The collection is somewhat limited by the space, but Ann and Karen have done a superb job getting to the book-loving heart of Nashville. They have carefully done their homework and obviously understand our odd little quirks in taste as well as our eccentricities. If you are looking for a place that specializes in a plethora of cutting edge independent fiction, this is probably not it. Instead you will find Parnassus boasts a solid collection of classics, some lovely tried and true children's books along with some contemporary offerings, and a broad landscape of other lovelies from current fiction by up-and-coming authors to philosophy to music and travel. Simply put, you are bound to find something that just might call your name. As for me, I was happy just to walk through the doors and find that sense of kinship that I have been missing. Booklovers of all ages will be at home here.

    I am an old fogey when it comes to books and have been around long enough to remember and miss Bernie Mills from the tiny Mills Bookstore. It was there that I bought my children's first hardcover books. I only allowed myself the luxury of splurging on special must-have books for them; my own books gladly traveled back and forth from the Nashville Public Library. But Bernie never once led me astray. He understood that I would likely never be a big spender, but he welcomed my company as a lover of the written word. And I totally trusted his recommendations. The chain bookstores obviously fill a need as do the on-line monsters, but I still like to "talk" books with a live person who knows something about them. And the friendly folks at Parnassus certainly do.
    And besides, what would a bookstore in Nashville be without a little live music now and then? After all, we ARE Music City, are we not?!
   While Parnassus thankfully fills a much-needed void, the verdict is not yet in whether or not this will become an integral part of the literary hub and heartbeat of this city. It is totally up to us the customers to ensure that it does. So the next time you are in the neighborhood, stop by. You will be welcomed with open arms!

all photos from Parnassus

The Wonder of It All

   Except that ye become like little children, ye cannot enter the kingdom of heaven. When we are young we wish to be old and when we are old, we wish for all of the wonder and the joy that was once ours. But come Christmastime even the most jaded and cynical among us find moments when we can catch a glimpse into the heart of the child we once were. Don't be afraid to let go of yourself this year, to shed the pretentiousness, the artifice, and the veneer with which we all too willingly cloak our lives. Come, take the journey with me.  Let's look long and hard at the heart of Christmas, the real Christmas, not the commercialized version that begs for more and more and more and is only fleetingly and temporarily satisfied. Let us willingly see the ugly ache of our selfish desires and our mindless propensity for endless consumption for what they are, and turn to consider instead the Christmas that is the essential celebration of the gift of Emmanuel, God With Us. If we dare to surrender to the truth of this life-shattering reality, then and only then will we find ourselves looking through the doorway of our own heart into the very soul of heaven. The true Christmas is what brings the mystery and joy of heaven as close as the beating of our hearts.

    I don't know about you, but I am keeping Christmas this year. Keeping. Not letting go. Holding fast and firm to the joy and the wonder and the glory of it all. And trusting the Holy Spirit to let me see, hear, and find fresh vision in each passing day. And resting in Emmanuel. God with us. God for us. God in us. The best gift. The everlasting gift. The only gift of any value and the one gift that restores to us, the fallen and the jaded, the softened wonder-filled heart we each of us are longing to have once again. The heart of a child.

 

The Marriage and The Tree

A real tree. See how it leans slightly to the right?!

    I swore that I would nevah evah have a fake tree. I caved. The Husband and I were finding the Continental Divide was invading our marriage every December. It would start immediately after Thanksgiving. He would camp out on one side of the den, arms akimbo, glaring at me whenever I took a deep breath because he knew what was coming. "Honey, it's time..." No matter how sweetly I prefaced it, the response was always the same. You would think I was asking him to undergo a natural childbirth without any preparation. Really. There was just no palatable way to approach the topic of THE TREE, because with him it was THE DREADED HORRIBLE NO GOOD TERRIBLE TREE.
   Over the years I tried everything. I roped one of my adult children into accompanying me and let The Husband stay home. He still glared at us when we got home. I even went by myself. The Home Depot guys feel sorry for women shopping for 9 foot trees by themselves. They ask questions like "Will someone help you untie this from your car?" and "How are you going to get this inside? It's very heavy." Duh. But not one of them ever offered to accompany me home and put the tree up. I guess that was asking too much. After all, I was wearing a wedding ring.
   One year I even ordered a tree and had it delivered. That went over about as well as if I had robbed Fort Knox. Over the course of a thirty-seven year marriage I am embarrassed to say that I have groveled. I have whined. I have begged. I have pleaded. I have bribed. However, no matter what strategy I have employed, The Husband is always in a huff about THE TREE.
   I don't know what it is about THE TREE but it brings out the adolescent male in him. The adolescent male. In a nearly 60 year old man's body. Interesting.
   Two years ago, I bridged the divide. I went to the after Christmas sale and bought a very nice and fully lit FAKE Christmas tree. It just about killed me. But I had had one too many arguments about THE TREE. It was one of those places where you just know that you are gonna have to climb the hill to die.
   I surprised myself. I actually don't mind the tree. The clean-up is so much easier. I was definitely getting too old to climb a ladder to wrap a sheet around a dead molting tree so that I and I alone could drag it through the living room and out the front door of the house. I sound a bit like a martyr, don't I? I want him to remember those days. In fact I am hoping that he will read this post. I will email it to him just in case.
    So...with a FAKE tree, you would think all of the problems would be solved. No solo trips to Home Depot. No exorbitant delivery fees. No wrestling with that green thing with screws that is supposed to help a tree remain upright. No more arguments, whining, begging, pleading, et al. Problem solved. Right? Then you tell me why it is that here I sit with a grumpy husband who is now moaning and groaning about bringing the box inside and having to assemble (with my son's assistance) a very heavy and unwieldy FAKE tree. It seems I can't win. But then again, it's not about winning. Or so I tell myself.
   However, I am thinking The Husband is gonna have to climb that hill to die over this one. And I will be right there pushing him up that hill every step of the way. After all, the bigger sacrifice has been made. Now he just needs to make his. Tonight.

The fake tree. No leaning. No mess. No Fuss.
Except that it still requires help in assembly.

Christmas on 18th

  

The outside of the house is certainly adorable, but it's when you peek inside the windows you begin to glimpse that something magical might be happening inside. The first time I stepped foot in Catherine Clement's house, I felt that I had come home to the house where dreams come true. Imagine the world of Mary Englebreit married to the whimsical illustrations of a Tasha Tudor and you begin to get an approximation of the charm that awaits within the walls of Catherine's home.  This creatively inspired little treasure on 18th Avenue (near Belmont University) is a place where not only dreams, but also your favorite Christmas fantasies can be fulfilled. Come to Christmas on 18th Avenue this Saturday, December 3rd, from 10-5 as Catherine opens her home for her annual Christmas shopping extravaganza. Some of my favorite artists and artisans will be there with all kinds of treasures for you to hide under the tree for those people you know and love.

   May the following pictures serve as an added enticement for you to come experience my favorite place to shop during the holiday season. Rest assured that I will be there when the doors open. The treasures are many and plentiful, but I always like to make sure that I don't miss out on anything! Is anyone surprised?!! Nonetheless, I hope to see you there!

By the way, I am still in love with my bottle brush wreath
I purchased last year and haven't taken it down yet.
Who said it had to be Christmas decor?

A Few of My Favorite Things

    Yippee. We are having a "Favorite Things" party this year with my Ish Bible Study Girls instead of our annual ornament exchange. I totally highjacked the idea from Pinterest. And I love it. Each person (there are seven of us) brings six of their favorite things, but the caveat is that you can spend no more than $6.00 on the item. Then after we have brunch, we will go around the room and explain what the gift is and why it is our favorite thing. When it is all said and done, each person will get to give away one of her own favorite things, and will take home six of her friends' favorite things. How fun is that?!
    I have been having a delightful time dreaming up all of the things I would love to give my friends and pondering what it is about this good life that I love so much. I have decided that some of the best things in life are not those that can be wrapped with paper and string. They are intangibles connected with memory or experience or they are those things that remind us of times when we can transcend ourselves or forget ourselves or can be our best selves. Without further ado, here is my short list:

The smell of a well-loved old book.
The sound of rain falling on a tin roof.
Watching the rain as it sweeps across the bay.
A novel that keeps you entranced until the very end.
The milky smell of a newborn's breath.
The tail-wagging greeting from your favorite dog after a long day at work.
Exotic postage stamps on a letter addressed to you.
Picking and eating figs on a warm day.
The first daffodils of spring.
Jumping in a pile of leaves.
New snow boots.
The music of Yo Yo Ma.
Alison Krauss' voice singing hymns.
The look and the scent of peonies.
Seeing my children's faces for the very first time.
The moment when I first remember understanding what it meant to be a child of God.
Falling in love with my husband.
The clean scent of newly-mown grass.
The beloved faces of family and dear friends.
Lying on a blanket in the middle of the night watching the stars.
Remembering to appreciate the beauty of a particular sunset.
The familiar cadences of a well-loved scripture.
Going away from home and coming back again.
The perfect pillow.


Upon reflection I find that there are a preponderance of things I love...far too many to list. I struggled even to narrow it down to these few. Somehow that makes me incredibly happy. That there are too many to list. Lord willing, I hope it will always be so.

Iron Bowling

    Today is the Iron Bowl in the South. The rest of the world goes on, but down in the Deep South there is only one thing on people's minds, and it's not what they got at the mall yesterday. Alabama is playing Auburn at Jordan-Hare Stadium. And just so you know, the sportscasters are correct when they pronounce it, "Jurrrdan-Hare" rather than "Jordan-Hare." These things are important to know. THE GAME is always historic. No matter where they play. No matter who wins. The old-timers can give you the scores and the quarterbacks for both teams for the past twenty years without blinking an eye.
   In our family, we are a house divided. One son went to the University of Alabama to play baseball and the two remaining sons went to...Auburn. Even the husband and I are on opposite sides of the fence on this one. His sisters went to Alabama...and my sisters and just about every other living relative of mine went to....Auburn. He gets totally obnoxious during the game, but I try not to unfairly denigrate or malign the opponent. He all too willingly lets me take the high road and does not seem to  lose any sleep over his attitude. But I make sure that he gets up and goes to early church the next day. Repentance is good for the soul.
   The one thing we are in total agreement about today is that our Alma Mater, Vanderbilt, is now certain to be bowl ready after turning Wake Forest on its ear. A bowl eligible Vanderbilt is something to be celebrated as it only happens every decade or so. But today that's about the only thing we have in common.
   It's truly a good thing that this rivalry or division does not extend much beyond the gridiron. Otherwise, we would be headed for more than church tomorrow...it would probably be marriage counseling, as well.
   But since I have the computer and he is on the other side of the room, I'll just type my sentiment real loud: WAR DAMN EAGLE! Win or lose, the Auburn Tigers are my only Alabama team!

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