2013

Dec. 30, the Sixth Day of Christmas.

I worked a full day today.  It's an odd thing, rising in the dark and going about your business as the sun lumbers its path, and then returning home just as the blueing sky returns to darkness.  The world seems small somehow, more self-contained.  Your life is suddenly book-ended by night.  And the funny little things we do so importantly in the day feel prim and trite.  Where did the light go?  I saw it come and leave, almost in one breath; one puff.

Out, out--!

So too the year's snuffed.  Unlike 2012, where my accomplishments were tangible and/or large enough to be accounted for--moving into our own apartment, setting up house; writing the first draft of the Story, noted for the Tuscany Prize; gathering a small but (in my opinion) impressive group of followers over on Spinning Straw into Gold and laying the foundations for titanic and life-long friendships--2013's have been more subtle, internal.  But the internal changes are the most lasting, aren't they?  I've come a long way, I think, in a year.  I've got stronger, learned some things about myself and loved ones.  Juggled a demanding part-time job with child-rearing, housekeeping, and bill-paying.  Been held by others at my weakest and held others up in my strength.  Been less defensive, asserted a little more.  And, more than ever, it's become clear to me where and how I want to continue on my road.  Life gets more and more pointed; doors close; the way is whittled down until it is one small twig and only two things remain, to go the direction in which it is pointing or not:

"The issue is now clear.  It is between darkness and light, and everyone must choose his side."  G.K.C.'s last words.

I don't think God gives us dreams for them to stay dreams.  We choose the darkness when we cling to them and horde them, instead of offering them up to Him, where He can cup them in His mighty hands and breathe life into them.  It takes quite a bit of faith to hand over those fragile dreams.  But I have to believe that God wants for us what is good.  He wants for us what we want, if what we want is pure and true to ourselves, and not a distortion of that first thrill in childhood, corrupted by the world's faithless hands.

This year, I'm going to continue working on the Story.  I won't say I'll finish it because a thing like this is furtive and doesn't do well under direct pressure.  It has to be coaxed, loved into being.  I'm going to pray more.  I mean really pray.  I want to stay off the computer and the internet and read more, walk more in the open air.  To take exercise, as long as the reason for it is anything other than to take exercise--what a terrible reason!  No wonder I hate it.  One should run because one loves the thrill of running, the pounding of feet and the sweet burning of the lungs; one should swim because one wants to beat the waves like a primal being; and one should kick or swing or hit or dunk a ball because it is Such Fun to put a ball into a target, to say, with the angels, "And do this!" and to watch it happen!  I want to care less about if I'm pleasing others and more about if I'm pleasing God, and myself.  I want to form my son, in mind, body, and spirit, so that at my end, despite my own pitiful failings, I will be able to point to this one good thing and say, "God, he is Yours."  I want to make things with my own hands; this secondarily to the writing, but when the choice is between consuming or producing, I hope to chose to make; unless I am in need of rest, and even then, there is prayer.

I want to do all these things as if there's no time in the world and all the time in the world--each new thing with urgency, frivolity, intensity, and attention.

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Tomorrow I'm going to post 13 pictures from 2013 that tell the story, in one way or another, of my year; no words allowed.  I used to do these "little stories" more often but have been so busy of late (and often ill).  That's another resolution: to post more wordless stories to this blog, to be aware of the daily stories I live and to appreciate them enough to capture them on camera.  After all, writing words are second nature to me; and it pays to get a little out of one's comfort zone from time to time.

Won't you join me?

3 Reasons I Love Advent

Dec. 8, Feast of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary.  Second Sunday of Advent.

1.  Winter

The Church is simultaneously universal and local.  At the earliest, she had little trouble adapting herself to peoples and climes.  The conversion of the Irish and Mexicans were fruitful transitions: the Irish recognized the truths they had always observed and at last saw their wellsprings; Our Lady appeared as sister and maiden among the native peoples of Mexico.

The Church cast its roots in Europe and saw that her children needed Advent in winter.  Winter, especially in the farthest northern reaches, must have seemed an enemy to life itself, shutting the world in cold and dark and banishing memory of sunshine.

Advent comes in December because that is when it is winter.  Winter comes in December because that is when it is Advent.

2.  Watching

While frost puts earth and nature to sleep, its chill lends me a new alertness; something familiar comes with the first thrill of autumn, rushing withered leaves and lifting them in invisible undulating currents--and higher, under the wings of geese flying south.  Advent tells me, "Listen! Watch!  Be still!  The Bridegroom is coming, be wakeful!"

You've met the feeling--it may be in anticipation of homecoming or a special event.  Children know it well who lie awake or fall asleep in armchairs on Christmas Eve, watching for the arrival of Santa Claus.  The expecting woman and adoptive parents are tuned for signs of stirring in the dark, the first warm dark of the womb.  It is not a wary watching, but a thrilling one.  Any moment now. . . a sweet and painful tending of the flame of anticipation.

3.  Waiting

That hitch in your chest, the feeling that your heart might leap at any moment, as it watches for the sign--only say the word!--is held back by the thinnest of tethers; the waiting.  The waiting is both discipline and gift.  It distills and purifies, hardens our intentions into a fine mold, and makes us worthy of that for which we watch.  Like the sweet buildup of the marriage act between spouses, the not-having, the un-being is as good as the thing itself.  It tells us, in that singular and familiar Christian truth, that we are not, and He Is ("I Am"), and that this separation is the very reason--oh happy fall!--for our consummation.

Christmas is coming--the pivotal moment when God Himself penetrated His Creation, and changed everything, forever.

3 Reasons I Love Catholicism hosted by Micaela at California to Korea.

My Best Friend's Wedding, Part II

The Reception followed with a delectable picnic barbecue at the park.  Proof that I was there:

Someone thoroughly enjoyed the cupcakes.

Homey details added the perfect touch.

Me squishing the head of the bride.  Because this is the essence of what we do when we are together! Below, my mom and sister.

And I got to give an impromptu wedding toast!

When I was eleven and in sixth grade science class, there was a pretty, sweet, mature-looking girl who sat in the front of the classroom, and I thought, Oh, how I wish I could be friends with her.

That was seventeen years ago.  Congratulations, Ashley.  I love you.


aka, Laura

My Best Friend's Wedding, Part I

We were worried about the Squirt's tolerance for a ten-plus-hour drive to Nashville, but he was blessedly agreeable.  Let it never be said I deny he's a Very Good Boy.

We stopped north of Atlanta for the night.  That morning was tepid and fresh, and the foothills of the mountains tucked us into a little pocket of reality.

From there, it was only a three-hour drive to the Nashville "suburb" and the rehearsal dinner.

There's Ashley, my best friend of seventeen years.  She's the epitome of feminine, if you can't tell by the hot pink and gem-studded glasses.

That evening, the honorary bridal party (plus my sister!) stayed up late into the night to make 40 programs. We slept in a hotel room, and Ashley woke me up at zero in the morning to walk sleepily in the frigid dawn to Hardees for a girl chat and a greasy pre-wedding breakfast.  Wouldn't have had it any other way!

Can't see the bride in her wedding gown before the ceremony!

Ashley + Greg Burgess, joined in holy matrimony, two o'clock in the afternoon, March 11, year of our Lord, 2013.

 Part II tomorrow (I hope) with the reception.  <3

Theme Thursday: Happiness or Joy

Theme Thursday is hosted over at Clan Donaldson.  The theme for this week is happiness or joy.

The opportunity for these photographs fell into my lap this morning--literally.  With the rosy sun lighting up the garnet-reds in our bedroom, my son got up and decided this--this moment right here--was the moment he would roll back and forth, this way and that, over and over, across my lap, under my legs, tangling the blanket, enjoying himself like a cat in a basket of fresh-laundered linen.

This? I thought.  This is fun for you?

But I try to take it all in stride.  I share the handicap of our culture: I am always looking forward.  To the next task, the next holiday, the next appointment, the next meal, the next thing.  But I have had the privilege to experience joy, and when I have, it has not been a joy in something not-yet-realized.  It is a joy in whatever thing I am doing or seeing or feeling right now.

It is an unspeakable, soaring joy, lasting only for moments: while driving on a bright morning, with a long, smooth road and an as-yet-unwritten day ahead of me, full of potential.  It is in certain notes slung together, hitting a chord more spiritual that physical, that bring forth un-summoned tears.  And, it must be, in the feel of a soft fleece blanket, warmed by sunshine, and the safe disorientation that melts everything into a joyful, vibrant now.

The simplicity of my son's happiness is a reminder to me to take joy in every moment.  It's something I'm working on, something I'll have to keep working on, actively, until I enter the perfect, joyful now of eternity.



For further reading on these themes, see Surprised by Joy by C.S. Lewis and Take Joy by Jane Yolen.