Christmas Party Friday's Complete the Sentences with Critty Joy

My favorite part of December is... holiday cheer. There's just something about December that makes people smile. The lights, the carols, the coming together to make Christmas out of whatever you have.

The Christmas song I can listen to over and over is... White Christmas, Bing Crosby. Holiday Inn and White Christmas were staples when I was growing up. When I first moved from Florida to Michigan, I was so upset about moving so far from everything I knew. I remember writing my own version about dreaming of a green Christmas with palm trees. Though this year, we could put TobyMac's Christmas This Year on repeat and I wouldn't mind. I also like Music Box and Music Box Blues (and all the rest of the Christmas music) by Trans-Siberian Orchestra.

My favorite Christmas gift when I was a child was... I was a spoiled child. I received way too many toys which didn't mean much to me after I got them. Horrible, isn't it? I remember when I started getting clothes for Christmas. Then it wasn't so much fun, because I couldn't spend the rest of Christmas day playing with clothes. I wasn't that kind of girl and they were that kind of clothes.

If traveling anywhere in the world were an option I would spend Christmas... Aberdeen. When I spent Christmas there, I loved the lights and the decorations and the baby Christmas tree we had in the corner of our flat. Besides what would be more Christmasy than the UK?

Christmas movies are... super cheezy but I still love them. Seriously, the cheezier the better - I mentioned my love for holiday cheer. I especially love the many, many versions of A Christmas Carol. I miss ABC Family's 25 Days of Christmas.

My must have Christmas treats include... Life Savers Sweet Storybooks (a pack with 8 rolls). We got them every year in our stockings. The year I didn't (when Mom finally realized we were too old for stockings or perhaps when there were children in the family again) I felt so disappointed and like something was missing.

Decorating for the season looks like.... um, nothing at my house. Several of my friends intentionally don't bother to decorate for Christmas since they go visit their families. I just don't have any Christmas decorations. Well, I have a tree, but I never put it up due to an unfortunate incident with a spider that makes me afraid there are more spiders in the box. So, I guess, my Christmas decor this year is a pre-lit Christmas tree box. But, if I could decorate my way, the tree would be full of my childhood ornaments and others that were gifts. There would be a wreath on the front door and stockings for me and Mara (the cat) hung by our imaginary fireplace. And an advent wreath. I've really wanted to celebrate advent at home in the past few years.

When it comes to Christmas gifts I prefer to... give than receive. Years ago (when I wasn't a responsible adult with bills) I loved going to the mall with my best friend to find the perfect gift for my family and friends.

The Christmas season makes me feel... usually, all warm and fuzzy - like I am curled up next to a roaring fire with a cup of hot chocolate while it gently snows outside. But this year, I feel like I should be giving more rather than sitting back and saying I can't afford to give anything.

To me Christmas means... Bringing people together and that warm feeling of holiday cheer. Not very deep or spiritual, I know.

Won't you join us at the Christmas party? 

Ebenezer and Tiny Tim

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I was watching A Christmas Carol with Patrick Stewart last night. It might be my favorite true-to-the-original version of the story. It was a bit like watching Shakespeare rather than Dickens. At this point, I know most of the dialogue in A Christmas Carol movie, even the ones I've never seen. Although, I had just watched a bizarre Christmas movie based on a story by Truman Capote so that might have made a difference. By bizarre I mean that there was a scene in which a little old lady, a very young boy and a tiny dog got drunk on whiskey which was probably homemade (that's called "moonshine" right?). The drunk dog was shown fast alseep flat on his back which was funny, but totally wrong. The whiskey by the way was from a man named HaHa Jones for use in their 30 fruit cakes. They were just tasting the leftover liquor. In case you are wondering, its called A Christmas Memory.

But this year, A Christmas Carol has spoken new things to my heart. It is a mythic story. It transcends its original writer and still lives in its many, many versions. Here are a few new thoughts I've had on it this year. Like, how exactly do you boil someone in their own pudding?

It has only recent occurred to me that Scrooge's first name is Ebenezer. Ebenezer as you may or may not know means "stone of help". It was set up as a memorial of battle in 2 Samuel. I think in my Experiencing God workbook, they equated this with standing stones in our lives to look back at and remember what God has done for us in the past. I may have heard this somewhere else too, but I forget exactly where. These standing stones are memorials of when God showed up and helped us. Ebenezer Scrooge is a bit of a memorial stone. Every Christmas, he is there reminding me that "mankind is my business" and to "honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year."

Tiny Tim. This kid. How does he tug at my heart strings after all this time? Although, it has only been recently that I've seen (and heard) beyond his infamous "God bless us, everyone". This line now stands out to me:

Somehow he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk, and blind men see. (A Christmas Carol)

Um, wow. Granted, a child didn't actually say this, but, honestly, isn't this profound even for a grown man with serious literary credentials. How many of us look at our infirmities/weaknesses/whatever as a means of illuminating Christ? Do I hope that someone sees me reject wheat/rye/barley/oats at a meal because it might remind people that man cannot live by bread alone? I'll tell you how often:

NEVER!

In fact I am more likely to spend Communion Sundays feeling sorry for myself because I cannot share the bread. I've done it. I will be honest with you, I probably will not start thinking about my celiac disease in this way. I am not that humble or altruistic. Because the moment I do actual think this at the dinner table, it will be swiftly followed by "what a good person I am". But this just might come back to me next I'm feel sorry for myself when I can't eat bread.

Now if only I had written this in my undergrad paper on A Christmas Carol.

Visit Bonnie at Faith Barista as we Unwrap Jesus this Christmas.

Do you ever wonder what the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future might show you?

The Heart of Santa Claus

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I know there is a great debate about Santa (or seems to be). I've read many posts this year on Santa or the deliberate lack of Santa. The season creates an uncomfortable pairing of the sacred and the secular in Christian households. Have you read Jon Acuff's post about the Elf on a Shelf vs. the Nativity scene? It still makes me laugh (even if that was the first time I ever heard of the Elf).

My very best friend grew up without a Santa Claus. Her mother decorates for Christmas almost exclusively with  snowmen, to avoid the Santa Claus.

I grew up in a house where we did the Santa thing and we went to church to do the Advent thing. I think I got to light the Advent candle once, and was enchanted by that long candle snuffer wand thing ( I assume it has a real name). My belief in Santa grew when I heard sleigh bells. This past year my mother revealed that this was the year I received a swing set. I continued to believe in him until I finally realized that his handwriting look suspiciously like my mother's. We kept Santa alive at my house.

Every Christmas I look forward to a marathon of Christmas movies. Some of my all time favorites aren't Christian. I love Holiday Inn and White Christmas, because Bing Crosby is Christmas for me, too. A Christmas Carol is my favorite Christmas story (besides THE Christmas story). Actually, it would be better called a Christmas legend or myth. Because at this point it has gone beyond Dickens to dozens of versions with the same message. Perhaps you could even call it mythopoeic, joining the ranks of my beloved George MacDonald, Tolkien, and Lewis. Mickey's Christmas Carol is by far my favorite version.

I have read that many families reject Santa Claus for a focus on Christ. I don't think I will do the same if I ever have a family. The reason is that Santa does not represent the greedy, commercialized (hey, Charlie Brown!) Christmas that I do try to avoid. The Santa I cherish from childhood represents the giving part of this holiday.

Santa is more than the the big guy in a red suit who lives like a hermit with a bunch of little people making toys. He is more than the  tree and the sleigh and the cookies with milk and the reindeer used as a fog light.

You see, the Santa movies and stories that I love have one thing in common: at their core, they celebrate a man who loves to give. The best stories about Santa are about how he became Santa. Forget Tim Allen. In the beginning, Santa was just a simple man who wanted to spread joy by giving simple toys to children. This man would risk his life to continue giving toys. This man gives up a "normal" life to give. He works the whole year to give on one night a year and make it special for every child.

I was watching a movie from Netflix this week called Christmas Story about a boy named Nikolas who became Santa Claus. Its a Finnish movie and I was well over an hour into the movie before I realized that the dialogue I heard was not matching their lips. Nikolas began by giving to the children in his village in response to the village taking him in as an orphan. When the gifts were found on Christmas morning, he would deny that the gifts were from him. Santa is more about his giving than children receiving. I think its a new favorite of mine.

That's another theme I am seeing this year. An emphasis on giving. Especially the hard giving to complete strangers.  The giving that is far removed from the receiving. Its not enough any more to give for the simple joy of giving and seeing the delight in someone's eyes when they unwrap a gift and see our heart for them. These days we have the opportunity to give the gift of giving. Especially, with all these opportunities to give to those in need. In real need.


Parents want to train their children to give to others instead of receiving from us. All those post about Compassion and giving what we have are like arrows to my heart. I've actually been thinking about this kind of giving and if I can do, but in my own quiet (don't-mention-it-to-anyone-so-noone-notices-when-I-fail) way. I can tell that this is not something that I can continue to keep on the down low. So thanks for that.

To me, this is not at odds with the heart of the man who became Santa Claus. . I think my Santa would be the first in line for all these giving programs available today.

Santa Claus is really more like Christ than I am. He (and fellow bloggers) may just inspire me to be more giving, even if I don't think I have enough. This might be a new tradition in the making.

Sharing Christmas traditions with Critty Joy


and Unwrapping Jesus with Faith Barista.

My Voce Magna

Image by h.koppdelaney via Flickr

Mihi opus est voce magna.

Its been about 6 years or so since I took Latin, but this phrase has stuck with me, in various forms. I was delighted to find my old Latin text recently to confirm the exact wording and the possible translation. It means, I need a great [large] voice. or I have need of a great [large] voice. Or something like that. I only took a few semesters of Latin.

As a woman struggling with writing and the label of "writer", this statement strikes me to the core.

If you are regular follower of my blog, you will notice that I haven't posted much lately. The truth is that I have written much lately. At first, I didn't want to write. Then I was afraid to write. I questioned everything that came to mind. Why am I writing this? Will it help anyone? or even be something positive or encouraging to read? Worst of all: hasn't this been written before and better? When I finally wanted to start trying again, if only to go through the motions, to practice, I felt stopped before I even touch the keyboard.

It may be that God wanted me to listen for a while. To think about what I was writing and why I was writing. And I have been thinking quite a bit. Recently, I found this in my favorite book,

My heart was sore, and in my brain was neither quest nor purpose, hope nor desire.

This has been the state of my heart [and brain] over the past few years. Without quest or purpose. Without hope or desire. More important, without a voice. You cannot imagine the impact of losing your voice...until you do.

For me, it began as a choice. I chose not to speak. Then, without really commanding my silence, God kept me from speaking and showed me the value of my voice. The funny thing is that now that I want to speak (or even shout from the rooftops, if given the opportunity), I still hesitate. I don't want to say just anything. I want something. to. say. So I continue to be silent. Waiting and hoping. For something to say.

What about you? Do you ever question your voice? How important is a voice to you?

What I Hope for Christmas

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I love Christmas. I love both the sacred and the secular traditions.

Christmas carols are some of my favorite music, not to listen to, but to sing. When I was in school, I loved being in the choir during the Fall semester and learning Christmas carols for the December concert. One of my favorite Christmas traditions at my high school: we did the Hallelujah chorus every year and invited alumni to join us on stage. Love those high notes, even the one I couldn't hit.

A Christmas Carol (and its many versions) is my favorite Christmas story - you know, besides THE Christmas story. Such a classic redemption story. I even had a part in a small production of Scrooge my senior year. At the last minute, I stood in for the little boy at the end who tells Scrooge that its still Christmas day.

I love using this holiday as an excuse to get the family together. For the past few years, Christmas has been about family for me. And it still is. However, I am extremely disappointed in my family this year (I hope to share more about that later) and I am looking in a different direction with hope. I find my hope is a bit closer to home... where my heart is.

 This year, it seems like everyone (you too probably!) is calling me to be present this season. Remember what its all about. As my pastor's wife always said, when hear or read something 3 times...its God speaking and its time to listen. So that's what I hope for: to be present.

Unfortunately, this month seems to have other plans. There are only 3 weeks until I head to Pennsylvania for Christmas with my grandmother. There is so much that must be done and more that I want to do before then.

December days are slipping by.

I am just coming out of a season of stepping back and seeing things from a different perspective and I am anxious to get back into things. Perhaps too anxious. I want to do everything and make up for all those months 'off'. Even worse, I want to rush it. I want to pick up where I left off, not begin again where I am now. I want to get back to being immersed in things so I can take huge gulps of God. But that's not how it works, is it?

I feel like I am trying holding the season back, but it's like holding back the tide.

I am wishing for more moments of kairos time in the hectic pace of chronos time.

So I am trying to pace myself. I hope to spend this month planning and praying about the new year. Preparing my heart and soul for new things. Too often, I think I plunge into something huge without much thought or planning. This often leads to unfinished projects or half-hearted attempts which make it easier to walk away. My friend and I just decided to postpone our email Bible study until January so that we both can commit to it. [In fact, if I have "one word" for 2012, it might be COMMIT] Instead of trying to jump back into some intense Bible reading plan, I am going to give my soul the chance to take deep soul breaths of the Word by reading smaller pieces at a time.

Alright, that being said (and planned and hoped for), I am planting my feet and challenging December to bring. it. on.

Read more hopes for Christmas with Faith Barista Bonnie's Faith Jam community.

Stories Disclose Human Being - Madeleine L'engle

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We tell stories, listen to stories, go to plays, to be amused, to be edified, but mostly so that we can understand what it means to be a human being. Jesus was a story-teller. Indeed, according to Matthew, he taught entirely by telling stories. One of the great triumphs of Satan has been to lead us to believe that "story" isn't true. I don't know if all the facts of the story of Joseph are true, but it is a true story. That is very important to understand. Jesus did not tell his parables in order to give us facts and information, but to show us truth. What is the truth of the story of the man with the great plank in his eye? Doesn't it tell us very clearly that we must not judge others more stringently than ourselves?
And Joseph's story tells us much about what it means to be human. More important than whether or not Potiphar's wife actually tried to seduce him is the truth of his integrity in refusing to betray his master. Story is the closest we human beings can come to truth. God is truth. God is beyond the realm of provable fact. We can neither prove nor disprove God. God is for faith.

from Glimpses of Grace, excerpt taken from Sold into Egypt: Joseph's Journey into Human Being

I Wish She Had Written To Me

Image by J. Paxon Reyes via Flickr

Writing has been hard lately. So I have been avoiding it. Especially while so many others were writing their 31 days series through the month of October. Their words worked their way into me and joined the flow of change. Like Christy's butterfly in the becoming, I am changing within. It has been frightening for me this past month with a few moments of excited anticipation. I have been met with so many disappointments lately that it is hard to continuing believing and trusting. My days seem to be filled with more questions than answers.

Something that has helped and not helped at the same time: boxes that have been stored at my grandmother's house since 2005 when I first went to Scotland. It seems like a lifetime ago. I knew I had changed since that time, though I had no idea how much until I opened those boxes. It is like being reacquainted with an old friend. I have mixed feelings about that old friend.

Being immersed in beloved memories has been healing and pleasant. But after the first blush, I am beginning to see what I seem to have lost since then. 

When I read my journals from years ago, I either cringe or respond cynically to how poorly I've written.  Recently, I've been able to get past my frequently remarked upon mixed metaphors and boy-crazy laments to what I was really saying. This was the greatest evidence of the change that has occurred within me in the last 5 years. The girl who wrote those journals, read those books, wore those clothes, would not recognize the woman I am today. I think she would be dismayed, discouraged and disappointed if she knew where she would be in half a decade.

I cannot help admiring that younger version of myself. After surviving an unknown illness with faith and patience, she dove into living and discovering her Father and the purpose she was given. She questioned and doubted, but she always remembered the Lord's promises, despite the way life made them seem like lies. She had a heart for others. In a serious discussion of the Body of Christ, your sisters in Christ will not call you the "heart" to be nice. They generally mean it. Journal entries written with passion and without concern for what they expressed because they were real. Words of praise and thanksgiving for a beautiful life alternated with days when the world seemed to be ending. The writer was not afraid to *feel* whether it was happiness or disappointment.

My journals contain many letters. Letters to God, letters to friends, even *blush* letters to boys I had crushes on. These letters contained words I longed to say out loud, but was too afraid. As I read them, my heart wishes that she had written a letter to me, her future self, the lost and wandering, hurt and afraid future version of herself. She seems to have something that I have lost.

But I must stop reading these old words, Best Friend's orders. They seem to be having more of a negative effect on me.