The last two months have been busy:
I vacationed for two weeks, which always means, for me, about four weeks—an
initial week of packing and planning, two weeks away, and then a week of
recuperating. So there went November with no postings and no blogging.
Then
came December and a posting in which I gave you a brief glimpse into my convent
life in Seneca, Kansas. The following week, flu visited. After it’s departure,
I tried to live the expectation of Advent, but found myself instead caught up
in the frenzy of Christmas.
I
say frenzy because that’s what the
last week has felt like: shopping for gifts and groceries, baking cookies and
quick bread for gifts, wrapping and boxing all the gifts for sending to friends
elsewhere.
Then,
decorating the house and the tree and writing messages on Christmas cards.
. . . by Marcel Rieder, 1898
Next,
shopping for the ingredients for the Christmas Eve meal at my home and for the
pies and salad I’ll take to the Christmas Day family gathering at my brother
and sister-in-law’s home.
And
finally, getting ready for a guest who’s coming to spend a few day with me and
the cats.
Each
year, those of us who celebrate Advent and Christmas must decide how we will
embrace these two seasons. This year, the planning, shopping, decorating,
gifting, and visiting have ensnared me.
I
started off with good intentions, but I’ve gotten lost in the maze of trying to
do too much in too short a time. And that “too much” is mostly unnecessary if a
person—like myself—would like to live the simplicity of Advent and of the
age-old story that prompts the celebration of Christmas.
It
is a story of the birth of a child. Like Nelson Mandela, this child grew up and
found himself interacting with those imprisoned by illness and need, ignorance
and hatred, fear and greed.
His
response, like Mandela’s, inspires all of us. Both dedicated their lives to
helping others. Both gave us the gift of their wisdom. Their lives were great
gifts from and to the Universe.
_-_James_Tissot_-_overall.jpg)
. . . "The Magi Journeying" by James Tissot
The
giving of gifts at Christmas comes from the ancient story of the Magi visiting
that child born long ago in a far-flung Roman province. These wise men brought
with them gifts for the child and so, we, too, bear gifts for others during
this season. A tapestry depicting this event would be sewn with multicolored threads—the pink-tinged joy of dawn and the golden contentment of sunset.
This
year, I have lost both in the flurry of gift giving. So yesterday I wrote myself
a letter to be opened on the first Sunday of Advent in 2014. In that letter, I
advise myself to enter the season of simplicity with a heart centered on the
truths underlying the Christmas stories of a birth in Bethlehem, a visit by
awe-struck shepherds to a manger, and a journey by three gift-bearing magi.
Within these stories is a humanity I want to embrace. And that demands a
simplicity I lost this year.
But
the season is not over. And so last evening, I decided to give myself the
gift of time. Time away from feeling that I must do this or that or something
else that in the arc of my life is a merest grain of sand.
By
giving myself the gift of time, I hope to enter into a simplicity that will
bring forth the gratitude and wide-eyed wonder that for me is essential to the
celebration of Christmas.
And
when I return to posting on January 9, 2014, and to reading and commenting on
your blogs on January 6—the feast of the Three Kings—I will be able to truly
respond to them because I won’t feel the frantic need to get “this” done so
that I can move on to get “that” done.
In
your blogs, you share your lives with all of us. I am choosing to read those
blogs when time permits me to respond thoughtfully and fully to the life you
share. I trust fully that you understand this.
May
the remainder of Advent and the entire Christmas season bring you whatever your
deepest heartwish is. Peace.
The
paintings are from Wikipedia.
