Aftermath

And the angels filled the sky
All of heaven wondered why
Why their King would choose to be
Be a baby born to die
-Bebo Norman, Born to Die

And she gave birth to her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.
Luke 2:7


This morning I find myself alone for the first time in a long time. It’s weird. Like all Decembers for everyone, there’s been something nearly every day. Sometimes December feels like a giant to-do list: shop here, order this, make this,  pick up the thing, drive here, do this. Don’t get me wrong; I freaking love a good to-do list. So you’d think a month of to-do’s would be delightful! The thing is, I always set myself up for failure, because I want to do all the things that everyone else is doing, too. I wanted to do Advent things, bake old and new Christmas treats, decorate the house within an inch of sanity, stare at the Christmas tree, throw a few Christmas parties, go to a few Christmas parties, write a brilliantly funny Christmas letter, make all the things on my Christmas Pinterest board. Duh. So when I find myself at the end of December taking stock of the month and realize that my Christmasy crafty-ness consisted of sticking little sparkly bows on Trader Joe’s chocolate bars, well, it’s a bit of a let-down. I didn’t really think about the birth of Jesus at all. I didn’t watch one Christmas movie. I didn’t bake one damn Christmas cookie. I didn’t make gingerbread houses with my nieces. I spent my time tracking my Amazon orders that I ordered a bit late (whatever), and running to the store at the last minute. My contribution to the family Christmas breakfast was store-bought cinnamon rolls, complete with icing in a package. For a woman of Norwegian descent, you can imagine the horror I tried to ignore-not homemade?? Not packed with loving amounts of real butter?

Well, so much for all I did and didn’t do. I found myself instead blessed with the loving attentions and loving grace of my family and friends. This was the month to give myself a break and accept the goodness of others. With health issues abounding still and exhaustion reigning, I relaxed at my parent’s home and at the home of my in-laws, both of whom explode with hospitality and generosity. My dad read the Christmas story aloud before presents, and I remembered through this tradition the reason for why we gather, why we give presents, why we make food and spend time together, why we make time in an already crazy season. God came to us in the craziness of real time, of real life, in a birth of dubious background, in a time of great cultural stress and upheaval. God made Himself a gift to us, in a way that makes us scratch our heads and wonder at the Christmas story anew. How can it become old hat, become merely something on a to-do list? Thankfully, God waits for us patiently and graciously-He understands how hard it is to be human, especially in December.

A Simple Hike

These boots were made for walking.
-Nancy Sinatra

A simple hike. That’s all it was supposed to be. Just a nice, little meandering trail around the delights of Mt. Constitution on Orcas Island. Ben and I went camping last weekend, and we thought naively that we should leave the safety and perfect bliss of our smoky campfire for a late morning stroll. We put out the fire with more than a touch of regret and found the nearest trail. There wasn’t exactly a mile sign on the post pointing THAT WAY to the scenic beauty of Cascade Falls, but our map clearly indicated it couldn’t be THAT far. So we set off--Ben with his handy-dandy backpack filled with water for wussies (um, me) and honey-roasted peanuts for munching purposes.

Um. Well. Yes. I was just fine! I toddled up the trail like I’d been doing it forever…no heavy breathing, no sweat pouring down my back. Then the first three minutes went by. I quickly lost my sweatshirt, tying it around my waist like a cool kid from the 90s. Which I totally was, by the way. Duh. And the trail just kept going,  you guys. It wound up and around and down and through gorgeous valleys of dense green summer trees and bushes. I found myself breathing deeply…then huffing heartily, then gasping for seemingly elusive air after the steep hills. Thankfully, it was just Ben, me, and some deer who observed us rather in a rather askance manner. I probably scared them a mile off with my Darth-Vader breathing. Oh, and there were plenty of slugs. And ants. I would be terribly embarrassed if any of my friends, co-workers, acquaintances, or any other human found me so terribly overwhelmed by some mere exertion of the limbs. And of course, I’m telling you all about it, but whatever.

The thing is…my body has been very tired the last three years. Overwhelmed by black mold, stress, and allergies, it’s required a lot of rest time. So it makes sense I’m not quite ready to run up a trail or hike a mountain just yet. It’s hard to give myself grace and not really beat up on my poor sweating achy body. Let me tell you, though, it felt great to move around at last, at least for the first couple miles. To be out in the gorgeous nature of Orcas Island, God’s playground. The trees were so rich with summery goodness, the air so fresh, the streams and waterfalls so foamy and bubbly. Although my legs turned to pudding very quickly and I had to rest and take a nap (I would have taken a nap anyway…let’s face it) after we got back, it was totally worth it. And sitting with my feet stretched out towards the fire that evening, I felt on the top of the world. I conquered my fears that I couldn’t do a smallish hike, that I’d give out and Ben would have to call a helicopter to get me back to the campsite. You never know. Next time, I just think I’ll make sure I know long the walk is before I set out.