Last night I drove through snowfall with my Bend family to Sisters, Oregon where a house has been rented for Lisa’s Fortieth New Year’s Eve Birthday Bash.
But before the party begins at 5, I’ve had some thinking time. And it involves any of you that read this post.
In thanksgiving for each of you, in thanksgiving for gifts I’ve received beyond measure, I want to give to groups that are making God’s world better, one small and not so small act at a time.
That’s where you come in. If you text me or email me or even message me on this blog, I will make a money gift in thanks for you to a group that you think is making God’s world a better place one small and not so small act a time. Who I may give to in thanksgiving for you?
There is a deadline: 5 PM PST, December 31, 2022. Any requests received after that time will receive my prayers but not my money. Today at least.
Who may I give to in thanks for you? Who do you think is making a good difference in God’s world?
Waiting to hear. And praying with a thankful heart.
Early in my days of becoming an Episcopalian, I discovered the Twelve Days of Christmas. Christmas begins at sunset on December 24 and lasts until January 5, the Eve of the Feast of the Epiphany (that’s when the Wise Ones show up). Just to make liturgical time even crazier, the first Sunday after the Epiphany, a quick thirty years passes, and it’s the Baptism of our Lord. But that’s another blog.
Back to the Twelve Days of Christmas. Where we still are. As soon as I learned about the twelve days long Christmas, I was smitten.
Not hurrying to get my Christmas decorations up and being able to enjoy them wholeheartedly into January. Check.
Having twelve extra days to get Christmas cards sent and packages delivered. Check.
Wearing blue intentionally before Christmas to dress as a harbinger of hope. Check.
And not so much now, but in earlier days doing Christmas shopping after December 25 and being able to purchase more for less.
Twelve more days to feast on Christmas carols and have time to really sit with what the Word made Flesh might actually mean. Love coming down at Christmas.
Today, on the fifth day of Christmas, I am on a plane with a checked bag full of Christmas gifts for my Bend family. My daughter in law’s birthday is the fourth day of Christmas and there is a big celebration planned this weekend. I’m in!
But first looking back.
I was all set to celebrate Christmas Eve Eucharist at San Estaban, a church plant in Santa Fe just outside Plum Grove. It’s largely a community of immigrants from Mexico and always a joy to serve alongside the lay church planter, Will Llana. He provides the words, I provide the hands. They meet in a community center, and the worship had to be cancelled because the center needed to be used to keep folks warm in the midst of the bitter winter weather. Somehow, that seemed fraught with Christmas love. There was room in the inn.
My Christmas gig cancelled, I now had so many choices of worship. I settled on my “home” church, Holy Family, unvested, unsermoned, sitting in a pew.
It was lovely.
When we sang How a Rose E’er Blooming, I thought with joy about the unexpected flowers that had surprised me that afternoon.
The first day of Christmas got to be a pajama day with calls and texts from people I love and that love me. Dinner was celebrated with dear friends with conversation and laughter. Not in pajamas.
The second day of Christmas was yet another lolling day, celebrated with extra joy knowing the third day of Christmas would also be a day to loll. For the second day in a row, I spent most of the day on the couch, bundled up, reading yet another mystery, my fireplace adding extra warmth.
The fourth day of Christmas was a day of wrapping and unwrapping presents, lunch with a friend, and packing and preparing for travel.
And now it’s the fifth day and I’m sitting in a snow covered Denver airport. It’s a bit jarring leaving Houston with the air conditioner on in my car, with suitcases stuffed full of layers of winter clothes.
This is my last twelve days of Christmas as a full time working priest. I have remembered and remembered and remembered again all the years of Christmas busy-ness with a smile hangover on Christmas Day from a marathon of worship. Music and candles and incense and people that fill my heart.
But this is my transition year.
And I have seven more days to celebrate Christmas.
Sunday night, as I said prayers with my grandson, Austin, he said, “I’m going to pray that the snow storm continues, and I won’t have to go to school tomorrow, and you won’t be able to fly home so you can stay for my band concert on Tuesday.”
We had a little theological chat about God not being a magician or a fairy granting wishes. About being able to ask God for anything, but if Austin got the snowstorm he prayed for, it might be good for us, and it might be not so good for others.
This being my last year on the Mission Amplification team, I had a commitment to be in Houston on Wednesday for our annual planning meeting. Even though I really really really wanted to be at Austin’s concert, I’d made a commitment to my team.
Monday morning, flights were being delayed, but schools were open. I told Austin HOW MUCH I wanted to stay over for his concert but when I’d become a priest I’d made a first on the calendar rule. Unless there were an extraordinary conflict, when I made an appointment, it became my priority. I had to do that because once I’d made a commitment, more often or not another opportunity might come along that I’d really prefer to do. It was a form of the Benedictine vow of stability.
When Austin left for school, flying out was still dicey, so we said good bye with a bit of uncertainty. Flying in winter in Bend is often fraught with unexpected changes.
Then I started texting with my boss. She was really sick and the big meeting on Wednesday became uncertain. Twists and turns, and our big meeting was rescheduled for January. I was able to do the rest of my work via phone, zoom, and my son’s computer, and I rebooked my flight for Wednesday.
When Austin got home from school that afternoon, his first words coming in the door were, “Is Grandma Texas still here?” When he saw me, Austin wrapped me in a big hug.
I got two extra days with my Bend family and I was able to go to Austin’s band concert. Despite having played the saxophone for only a year, Austin is already in both the jazz band and the advanced band. The drive to the concert on Tuesday evening was enchanting —Christmas lights illuminating the snow covered streets and yards.
Austin surprised us with a solo during the first number. It was a priceless moment.
Afterwards we went out for Mexican food. Despite it being below freezing, we ate outside on a patio with heaters. Okay. I was still really cold.
Later we talked again about God and answered prayers. I’m not sure exactly how God’s hand was in the twists and turns of Monday so that I got to have one of most precious Tuesday nights with my family, but I celebrated the joy of family time with a grateful heart nonetheless.
On my way back to Houston. I watched snow on the ground from the window of my plane as the light faded.
I am full of thanks and joy for the gifts poured on me this third week of Advent.
Every year, for so many years, celebrating Advent has included travel.
For many years, Advent meant a trip to New Mexico for farolitos, piñón fires, Advent music, and snow. Or at least very very cold.
When we received the Advent gift of Jonas, the Advent trip became a trip to Oregon for birthday cake, reading books with my grandsons, baking cookies, and snow. Or at least very very cold.
Today I’m on my way for my annual Advent trip to celebrate Jonas’s tenth birthday.
As I do, I’ll be looking for Advent blue. Mary’s color. Hope.
House of Grace 