Category: Epiphanies


Friend of Santa

What’s the deal with dissing Santa?

It’s bad enough we can’t have Nativity scenes, but now there’s a major retailer putting Santa down.

I object.

I know, it’s supposed to be humorous. But the defender in me always rises up when I see those ads about how the retailer can best Santa in the game of gift giving.

Just so you know: I’m a dyed in the wool, steeped in the DNA Catholic.

I love the sacramental infusion of the smells, the bells, the holiness of the ordinary, the ritual, the language,  the music, the art, the mysticism of Catholicism. And the gracious, non-deserved, no naughty and nice list of the Gift of Christmas.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s why I love Santa Claus.

Long, long time ago, when I was a young mother of a two year old, I was standing in the back of the church, holding the Lectionary waiting to process up the aisle. Next to me was a woman, probably in her fifties, a kind of “church lady” with her sensible gray hair and plain grey skirt. It was Christmas morning and I was the lector at the 10:15 Mass, and she was a Eucharistic Minister.  I mentioned the fun of Christmas with my toddler daughter, the anticipation of Santa and the gifts.  She very plainly said, “oh we never bothered with all that with our kids. We emphasized the spiritual rather than the Santa aspect of Christmas.”

She was of so sincere. And humorless. What a drag.

For just a moment I felt chastened. I had been corrected by my elder on the true nature of Christmas and what’s important to teach children. But that didn’t last long.

What’s more Christian, more holy even, than a saint spreading the blessings of God on a world deeply in need of reminders of love?

We are physical, that is, incarnate, beings  not spirits just renting out space in a body–we need the sights sounds touch excitement, magic, yes magic, of Christmas and the  concrete expressions of love and undeserved gifts.

So when folks complain about the secularization of Christmas, I wish they’d leave Santa out of it. He’s a holy man. A wise man. A magi.

And, man oh man, he’s one of the best teachers of the holy that we’ve got.

Merry, Merry everyone.

 

Meat and Potatoes

Pot Roast, anyone?

Characters in my novel-in-progress have been hovering around the kitchen, the living room and the back yard for weeks now, waiting to eat Pot Roast. They’ve been lingering and thinking, but now it was time to eat. But I couldn’t seem to get them to the table. Well, finally, they can have their supper.

How did such a thing happen? Well, that’s what I’m writing about: the glimpses of the numinous we get to be part of in the creative arts.  Mine is quite a humble glimpse, but, I am thrilled by it.  Why?  Well, let me tell you.

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Choirs of Angels?

Several years ago, when our oldest child was in high school and our youngest in elementary, Gene and I came home from our Small Community of Faith gathering to find Katie directing John as he posed as a shepherd for the Christmas card she was drawing.

She had him wrapped in a pastel green tablecloth and was instructing him to “look afraid” at the sight of the Angelic Host. He complained, in that youngest child way, why every year his siblings tried to make a fool of him.  They protested that accusation with a defense that they try to make of fool of him every day.

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Hey, Don’t I Know You?

I’ve just had a revelation. No angels or skies opening up. (That would have been cool, though.) Just a regular ordinary revelation.  A recognition.  Yeah, I like that word– recognition.  Like you’ve met somewhere before, and you realize, oh, that’s right.  That’s what I’ve been waiting for.

This is the beginning of week 2 of NaNoWriMo– National Novel Writing Month.  I started out amazingly well, for me.  I am a slow writer.  I dally. I dilly. I dilly-dally around  words, around thoughts, around characters.  That’s okay.  All writers have their own style and pace.

All last week while I was trying to get my daily production of about 1700 words a day on-screen, I realized that no matter how I tried to steer the work, I kept coming back to the same themes and characters I’ve been working on in my novel-in-progress.  I have about 23,000 words that I’m relatively pleased with (countless words of notes and trial and error and scenes that went nowhere), so, I thought, I’ll cheat.

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Food Sober

At this week’s Slimming World © meeting, I reached a landmark in weight loss—I won’t tell you what it is because, well, just because. But it is a good feeling. I can now shop in my closet to wear clothes that have been hanging there since I let the weight sneak in. Some of the clothes are even baggy. Now, that’s a great feeling.

I was chatting with my friend Trina at the meeting and she had a fabulous idea. We get stickers for weight loss, which is great. (I don’t think we really ever get over getting a gold star to attach to our work.) Trina suggested that we get stars for maintaining goal weight, like the folks in AA get a chip for so many months or years sober. We called it Food Sober.

We all have coping mechanisms, things that we use to protect ourselves against whatever pain or trauma we have experienced. Some drink, some gamble, some shop, some smoke, and some of us eat.

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