As I wrote yesterday, I intend to chronicle my daily smiles, but let’s not confuse that with thanksgiving. My focus is joie de vivre for me and those who share life with me, while thanksgiving, by contrast, is often seen as moral obligation. So it is driven by duty rather than delight, aimed at someone else’s benefit rather than my own (except to exercise my virtue). As a default response, giving thanks will actually weaken relationships rather than enhance them if it pulls us from gracious into legalistic connections.
At a human level, when I share my joy with the one who gifts me, she is drawn into my life and experience. She connects with me and delights in my joy. The focus is on a shared enjoyment of the gift rather than a shared esteem of the giver and her virtue. When I approach thanks as duty, it distances me from the generous one and devalues her generosity down to a trade. Then my gratitude becomes her due, even though paying it doesn’t reduce my debt for her favors. And with big favors, she becomes the benefactor, and I turn into the charity case. Her virtue and strength is showcased, but only my lack and dependence. Mutuality devolves into hierarchy.
Even when God is the munificent one, I think it far better to share with Him my joy and invite Him into it rather than try to pay Him with gratitude, as though His presents come with price tags. Of course, I can be self-absorbed, focused only on the gift and ignoring the one who gave it, a childish mistake (although God is not offended or hurt by this as we are). The real misfortune in such a response is not the unfairness of it, but the loneliness that results. We were created for community, for connection, for sharing our hearts, so isolating our attention on the gift desiccates our relationships. The greatest good and core purpose of giving and receiving is to draw us into close communion through mutual care.
For a perfect illustration of the joy of shared celebration, see Susan’s comment.
HERE BE DRAGONS
So it does not trouble me that I don’t know the shape 2014 will take. Wait, did I just write that? What poppycock. I’m not okay with this at all. One of my coping mechanisms is to be in control of my life, and I can’t steer blind. 2013 ran out of road a week ago, and there are no more leaves to unfold on my map… the journey ahead simply wanders off the edge of the page. But the road carries me along still, without my leave. So, since I can’t see or direct my destination or route, I’ve settled on coloring in the shapes of each day.
My red crayon found this to highlight: “Every day, once a day, give yourself a present. Don’t plan it, don’t wait for it, just let it happen.” I like it! And after opening that daily treat, I want to jot down the experience in order to remind myself, to expand the pleasure, and to share it with others… not just for the treats I find, but for those that find me or ones I stumble upon. Someone even suggested keeping a photo journal, which I’ve been doing, and I think I’m kind of hooked.
o o o o o
Here’s my “gift to self” from 2 days ago 
Mocha with a marshmallow. I haven’t put a marshmallow in hot chocolate for as long as I can remember. It brings back good memories of snow-frozen fingers wrapped around a hot cup and icy toes warming on a toasty hearth, watching the flames dance and sizzle.
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Yesterday, on my daily walk it was the unexpected beauty in winter’s deadness, nature’s ice sculpture
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Today’s pleasure was sitting in a quaint local coffee house to write this blog and then listen to a friend share heart issues.
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May you discover for yourself simple daily pleasures to add a little color to the dark days of winter.
New Year’s resolutions feel more like chains than wings to me. I want freedom to become rather than strictures to conform. I would follow my heart’s inclinations rather than set a behavioral agenda, unsaddle my soul from demands and expectations and deadlines. I hope to be open and welcoming of each day, to receive what it brings, rather than insist that it yield rewards for my labors. May I rather grow like a tree: when the rain falls, suck it up; when the spring pushes up sap, sprout leaves; when obstacles crowd me, shape myself around them. Our backyard black walnut has no limb-growing, root-digging schedule, but it blossoms out well into its true self.
I think we have less control over our journey, our growth process, than we realize, and if relationship is foundational to our development, then growth is necessarily interactive and intertwined and cannot be a simple matter of my own choosing and acting. An organic, inter-relational spirituality looks more like a tree than a construction project: much more vulnerable to change, but also much more adaptive; much less structured and predictable, but much more expansive and potent. Both methods of development have set principles, but a plant has far more freedom of expression in living out those principles.
So I welcome 2014 and whatever it might bring, not because ours is a safe and good world, but because I have a loving and gentle God who promises to be with me in all the coming uncertainty.
Today is epiphany, when the Eastern church once originally celebrated Jesus’ birth. So we might say it is second Christmas. Our lights are still up inside and out. And our tree’s up. We are still munching seasonal chocolates. I continue to play Christmas music in my car. I’m not ready yet to bid these days adieu, especially in place of the dark, cold months of winter that stifle the year’s last hurrah. I want to hold onto some of the good this holiday brings: a cheerfulness and warmth toward strangers, a celebratory cadence in my steps, a lift in my heart’s song above the daily drudge.
Why does the mundane always drag us back from our festivals, tugging like gravity till our balloons lie all deflated and cheerless. How might I bring some of this rhythm and light, some of this forgetfulness and memory back with me into the daily round of chores and schedules? I don’t want or need more obligation by adding to my diligence an imposed cheerfulness, a forced smile, and so make my grinding tasks even more burdensome. No, I rather want to lighten the driving duties of the day, bring some sunlight into the shadowed spaces. Any thoughts my friends?
Before realizing what I had done, I started a post with the title “Holding onto the Good,” and the good referred to Christmas spirits. I was falling into the American error of confusing the good with good feelings, when truly the good often comes with the worst feelings possible. One of my fundamental life commitments is this: embrace the hard to gain the good, regardless of how it feels. But culture sucks me back into assuming that good feelings are the reward for good choices, that I can measure my spiritual pulse by how positive I feel, and negative feelings are a mark that I’ve slipped up somewhere. No wonder I want to leave up the tinsel and lights and stretch out this season to push back the bleak winter. That, and it just feels better. Who doesn’t want to feel good?!
For my LOTR friends
I affirm that desire: feeling good is not all bad. A sense of well-being gives me more energy to make the world a better place. It is a great blessing and resource. Like all resources, however, it can be turned to self interest. It can make me balk at choosing the hard or painful or costly. It can make me less patient, understanding, and sympathetic towards those who are struggling… even wanting to shove them away to insulate and save my positive vibes. Good feelings are emotional cash, which can be spent well or poorly. I’d like to have a big stash, but that’s not necessarily what’s best for my soul. In my experience, suffering has much more potential power in shaping me for good, true good.
Still I instinctively avoid it and wish it away. Pushing ahead through pain is like walking up to my knees in mud–it takes all my energy, gives no pleasure, and progress seems dismally slow. Perhaps my New Year’s resolution should be: learn to slog, which no doubt means adjusting my goals, expectations, and evaluations. Sometimes the measure of triumph is simply taking one more step.
I went to bed early tonight and slept through the preliminary fireworks, but the midnight burst woke me enough to chase away the sandman. So here I sit against the pillows, thinking. Before today, each new year piqued some fresh aspect of soul-building, but life (with God’s apparent cooperation) seems to have slowly drained me of a future focus and left me living day-to-day. All ambition, any hopes I had for some meaningful role in the world, has been pushed far away so that I am reduced to waiting… indefinitely… perhaps till the end of my days.
I’ve been trapped here for a year or maybe two. The good news, I think, is that my sense of worth has been slowly stripped free of its bondage to accomplishment. It feels odd—why am I still on earth if I have no purpose for being here—but it no longer feels painful or shameful or condemning, like I’ve been benched for screwing up. My life perspective has devolved into “It is what it is.” I’m ready to get back in the game if I’m called on, but I’ve put my sweats back on, and I’m okay to just sit and watch the action from the sidelines.
So here’s to a year without resolutions… or plans… or expectations. That’s a first for me.
For centuries before Jesus’ birth, the Jewish people waited for the coming Messiah… and for centuries after His birth, they waited still. As a whole, they found no hope in Christ because he brought no hope, not of the kind they wanted–a Savior who would deliver their nation. They expected the Messiah to save them from their enemies, not to save them from themselves. I think many of today’s religious people have the same mix-up.
To speak faith into current issues, I started another blog (here). I took that conversation elsewhere to keep this blog safe for readers because controversy often creates anger, especially among the religiously committed, increasingly so in our polarized country. This Christian acrimony is deeply disturbing to me because it feels contrary to the Spirit of Christ. Many believe that the great danger in our world today is the moral drift of society and that we must take a stand against the enemy that assaults us with godlessness.
But Christ did not come to save me from the moral decay outside myself, to place me in a safer world. He came to save me from the moral rot inside myself, from spiritual distortion and blindness, from self-loathing and self-worship, from the pride that would perseverate on the sins of others rather than my own. Let us put Christ back in Christmas by focusing on our own drift away from Him rather than on the drift of our society. His second advent will heal the world as a whole, but my present hope is in His promise to start that redemptive work in me.
It is Christmas eve morning and I have not followed through with my intention to post regularly through the season. Then again, perhaps it is not too late as the 12 days of Christmas still lie ahead to carry us to the Epiphany–if you follow the old calendar. This was not a tradition my childhood family kept, so the day after Christmas was a huge letdown, all the magic and sparkle wrung out with only the empty winter days dragging on, drabness taken to a new low. But of course the first Christmas was not an ending, but a new beginning of the most dramatic and transformative kind, not only from the human perspective of a first child’s birth, but of the entrance of God himself into our dark world with His presence and goodness. The light of the world burst on us that night, so let the celebration begin, and don’t be too quick to take down and box up the strings of blinking laughter.
Dec. 10
I try to notice the small gifts of each day, collecting them like shells on the beach, appreciating each for what it offers: a country walk on a sunny, brisk day, a snuggling puppy, a connection with Kimberly on a call I nearly missed. While a blueberry roll, even a basketful, can no more repair a heavy heart than seashells can rescue a trashy beach, it is still a benediction, however small, and during advent I’d like some Christmas shaped blessings, little seasonal sacraments with which to trim my day and focus my heart on the Coming One who is always present, a paradox and mystery worth contemplating.
Come, thou long expected Jesus,
born to set thy people free;
from our fears and sins release us,
let us find our rest in thee.
I’ll have to think about it and get back with you.
Dec. 9 Is It Me or Christmas That’s Broken?
Did I seem morose in yesterday’s post? I found it soothing. When I trust God’s acceptance of me, mess and all, it gives me a sense of release, of lightness, even sometimes joy. This evening Kimberly and I lit some scented candles, turned off the lights, and celebrated Christmas by meditating on the words so reflective of our experience:
And ye, beneath life’s crushing load,
whose forms are bending low,
who toil along the climbing way
with painful steps and slow
Look now, for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing;
O rest beside the weary road,
and hear the angels sing!
I was suddenly struck by the appropriateness of our experience and feelings in this season. It was to such as us that Jesus came. He came to “preach the gospel to the poor.” In December our whole society rises up to call the cheerful blessed. I feel out of place. It is the biggest holiday of the whole year, filled with happiness and laughter and peppy greetings to random strangers. “Holiday” is a linguistic child of “Holy day,” but it is the prodigal son that hollowed out his father’s meaning and ended up with all the froth and little of the substance. Berly and I listened to a popular Youtube rendition of “It Came Upon a Midnight, Clear,” but it had elided this middle verse. No one wants to hear about life’s crushing load at Christmas! No one but Jesus. That’s exactly what He came to hear… and to heal. Although the healing hope of this chorus is the next life (according to verse 3). Today’s joy then, muted as it may be, does not flow from our present success and comfort for “in this world you will have tribulation,” a promise of Jesus we’d like to leave unclaimed under the tree. The birth of Mary’s child rather opens the door for us into a world to come where all tears will be wiped away, and that is our hope, our future hope. Relief for my pain does not come here and now, but comfort comes into my pain because Jesus sees it and is moved by it, and his heart bleeds with mine. He does not need me to be cheerful, even on His birthday! Tonight that verse clenched my heart till the tears came in realization of a loving Savior who sees and knows and embraces me in my misery.
Janathan Grace Reflections 