My People

For our family, Christmas is about gathering with family.  We spend Christmas Eve with my wife's family and travel to my Mom's house on Christmas Day.  This year, a pesky snowstorm pushed our travel out a day but we still made it.  The two gatherings are different in many ways.  My wife's family is smaller and everyone lives near by.  When we get together, the conversations are generally continuations of topics discussed throughout the previous week or plans for the following week.  My family is larger, and no one lives in town with Mom.  When we get together, it's a time to catch up on each other's lives.  Things are more hectic at Mom's house.  Receiving travelers from distant places during inclimate weather necessitates a certain amount of flexibility.  We never know for certain when everyone will be there or when people need to leave.  Somehow, we manage to squeeze Christmas into that window of togetherness after the last has arrived and before the first has left.

For all their differences, the two gatherings have one important thing in common for me.  It is that sense of belonging, that these are my people.  It is such a wonderful and affirming thing to know that one has people.  No matter how stressful or crazy the world may seem, no matter how alone I may feel, I know I have these people.  My membership is not determined by what I do, or the conversations I have.  I simply belong.  It is good that we take time once in awhile to remember this.  We come together and exchange gifts but the real gift is the group itself.

I have people and I thank God for them.

Christmas Song

With the business of work and the general chaos of Christmas prep, I haven't had much time to reflect.  When I'm not reflecting, well, then I'm not blogging either. This afternoon is an exception.  Our youngest isn't feeling well and having him home from school has messed up an already shaky schedule.  I came home this afternoon so A. could attend B's afternoon choir performance.  I'll go back to work when she gets home and still hopefully be able to make the evening performance.

So, I'm home.  N seems just a little sick, but mostly still his old self.  He's working on a craft so I decided to reflect a bit and blog just a little.  I won't write much - I'm sure most of you are busy with your own holiday plans.

Around this time of year, I like to take out my guitar and play a little song I wrote a very long time ago.  It doesn't seem like it was that long ago, but as I think back, it must have been over twenty years.  The chords are simple and the rhythm is fairly basic.  I purposefully tried to keep it easy so anyone could play it (even if no one else has really ever had that opportunity).  Anyway, I leave you now with the lyrics:

Look at the snowflakes, a gentle reminder,
Of the purity winter restores to the land.
Think of the child, and know that he's much more,
The kingdom of heaven transformed in a man.

And what does this mean?
A babe in a manger seems hardly a king.
How do we know?
Where did the fanfare for royalty go?

Listen, an angel has brought us a message,
That the babe in the manger is really the one.
Born of the virgin, in a stable so lowly,
Receive him as king, as God's chosen son.

And so, let us sing.
For the babe in the manger is really our king.
How do we know?
The angel has spoken, proclaiming it so.

Look at the snowflakes, a gentle reminder,
Of the purity winter restores to the land.
Think of the child, and know that he's much more,
The kingdom of heaven transformed in a man.

And so let us sing.
Rejoice with our king.
Oh, let us sing.
Rejoice with our king.

Merry Christmas.

Stress Tale

For those of you who regularly check this blog, I'd like to apologize for its lack of fresh content.  Things at work have gotten insanely busy as we strive to meet some goals that are nearly impossible.  The stress of trying to get everything done on time and also prepare for Christmas has taken its toll on me.  I sleep erratically and generally just feel lousy.

I've been stressed before and I know how it makes me feel.  I don't like the feeling and I try hard to manage my time and workload to avoid these types of situations.  Usually this works for me, but every once in awhile, like now, something unexpected comes up and throws a wrench into everything.

I have found one bright spot in all of this.  When I'm stressed, I usually have lots of trouble falling asleep.  My mind races with all the things I'm worrying about.  I have found that if I think up a story, sort of a mental novel, I can distract myself enough to finally fall asleep.  Each night, I return to the same storyline.  Sometimes, I think about the characters, sometimes the plot.  Each night, I start from the beginning and work my way forward, sometimes jumping over sections to get to new parts.

For the past couple of weeks, I've thought through the same basic story.  There have been subtle changes as the characters evolve in my mind.  I don't know that I'll ever write any of it down or if it will just exist in my mind.  I fear that if I write something down it will hinder my ability to do my mental edits.  Maybe when I'm through this stressful time I'll be ready to unload the tale.

My Fall

I fell down the stairs yesterday.  Okay, "fell" might be a little dramatic.  I sort of slid down most of the steps and eventually fell onto the bottom ones.  In my defense, I was wearing socks (I was wearing other clothing as well, but only the socks are pertinent).  The socks were very slippery (I think they may have had some silk in them).  Apparently, I am not accustomed to such fine hosiery and I wasn't prepared for my lack of friction.  After the first little slip/stumble, I assumed I would get my footing on the next step.  Instead, I repeated this "shuffle" most of the way down.  Things quickly went from a little unstable to completely out of control.  Of course, grabbing the railing was out of the question since our railing is on the right side and my right hand was busy holding a cup of hot coffee.  If it hadn't been for the coffee, I'm pretty sure I would have been able to stabilize myself without incident.  Instead, I careened down the stairs, right arm thrust forward as if it held a sword and I was diving into battle.

When I finally hit bottom, I landed on my left side, still protecting the coffee on the right.  This did not prevent me from flinging most of it on the wall, the door frame, the steps and myself.  I sat for moment, taking in the massive stain on the wall before me.  There was still a little coffee in the cup, so I drank it before I tried to get up.  I didn't want to risk spilling it.  I looked up the steps and saw my eight year old looking down at me.  He'd witnessed the whole spectacle.  "That," he stated, "looked like it hurt." I nodded and stood, taking a quick assessment of my condition.  Nothing seemed broken or sprained, just sore - sore left hip, sore left shoulder, sore left arm. 

My wife was in the shower while I was falling.  By the time she came downstairs, I had cleaned the mess and set the boys up with breakfast at the kitchen counter.  I waited for one of them to tell Mom about Dad's big accident.  Instead, they seemed to have forgotten the whole episode and were discussing something on the back of the cereal box.  They were ready to move on but I wasn't.  If I'm going to fall down a flight of stairs and dump coffee all over myself and the walls and then have to clean it up, well, I'm going to get at least a little sympathy.  I groaned and made my way across the kitchen with an exaggerated limp.  It took a couple of passes before she noticed.  She responded with an appropriate amount of alarm and concern as I casually remarked that I'd fallen down the stairs.  I assured her that I was fine, just a little sore.  I felt better, knowing that someone felt bad for me.

Anyway, in the future I shall take greater care when wearing fancy socks.

Blue Water Day

Sometimes it doesn't take very much to make me happy.  A good cup of coffee, a kind word, an easy commute - all things that can change a so-so day into a good day.  My youngest son has taken to setting his alarm clock to go off at 7 am, two and a half hours before he needs to be at school.  At 7 o'clock I'm the only one awake in the house, usually sipping a cup of coffee and perusing the newspaper.  I've gotten used to listening for the alarm followed by muffled footsteps as he makes his way downstairs.  He's often toting a blanket as he passes by me at the kitchen counter.  We exchange a quick "good morning" and then he proceeds to the couch in the family room where he promptly falls back asleep.  Recently, I asked him why he gets up so early if he just goes back to sleep anyway.  He explained that he wants to be sure he sees me before I go off to work, that otherwise he won't see me until after school and those are the worst days ever.  Now, 8 year olds can be prone to hyperbole and I doubt those days are the absolute worst ever.  Still, it made me feel pretty good inside and I realized my days feel better when I see him in the morning as well.

Today, I had another reason to be happy.  It was a blue water day at work.  Our office is located in an older building that was once a high school.  The building has a limited number of restrooms that are shared by all tenants and anyone else that happens to be wandering through.  They get kind of gross pretty quickly.  Now and then, though, they do get cleaned.  And when they do, the cleaning crew leaves this blue water in the toilets - kind of like proof that they were there.  I love going into the restroom and finding blue water toilets.  It means that the bathroom has been cleaned and even better, that no one else has used that particular toilet since it was cleaned.  This morning, two of the four toilets still held blue water.  Even better, one of the two happened to be my personal favorite.  A good day, indeed.