In search of peace

There have been recent, private events transpire that have caused me, once again, to realize that I am captive to too much of this world.  And none of it is satisfying.  None of it is life giving.  None of it is lasting. 

Rather, all that distracts me is draining, destructive, or wasteful.  It can be at once numbing and infuriating.  It draws me away from all that is good, only to suck me under and hold me there until I can no longer see the way up.

Thus, for the next two weeks (at least):

I am unplugging screens.  No t.v., no Netflix or Hulu or Amazon.  No movies or series or episodes.  Not even Kindles.

Instead, I will read scripture and pray and create and play games and talk to my kids.  And read books.  And be silly and laugh and do science or make music and find beauty.    

I am unhooking the internet.  No Pinterest or Twitter or Instagram or Facebook or Snapchat or Spotify.  Not even blogging. 

Instead, I will journal and pray and walk outside, breathing deeply the crisp winter air and watching the snow on the pines.  And I will write letters and call old friends and be in the moment.   

I am purging sugar from the house.  No cakes or cookies or candies or hot chocolates or cereals that make Halloween envious. 

Instead, we will eat fruits, drink herbal teas, and add honey to foods that need sweetening.  

    

Because our bodies are made for better things than screens and sugar.  Our minds grow stagnant and mushy with this steady diet of processed food and false ideas.  And because I think that we need to relearn how to be with each other.  And we need to silence messages that are harmful and counter-scriptural.  We need to pull our eyes and hearts and minds away from what this world keeps screaming is so important, and look instead for the face of the One who truly is. 

Until then, dear one, go in peace.  

Here's the Thing:

The Voices in My Head

Or, How Not to Ruin Your Holidays

                I had a house full of my beautiful family over the holiday.  My parents, my sister, for a brief evening my brother, and of course, my minis and the Officer all tucked nicely in the new mountain abode; plus the dogs: a 4-month-old Great Dane and a 5-year-old Yorkie were here to cavort with our 5-month-old Doberman.  It should be said that we are a raucous and space-filling crowd.  We are underfoot and piled atop one another.  We disagree more than we concede, we eat a great deal, and we love ferociously.  And thank God we have plans to return to one another in 3 short weeks.    

                Yet, as I sit by my fire, avoiding post-holiday cleaning necessitated by the requisite holiday decorating that the minis expect, I am closing out the season of thanks and rushing directly into the season of abject consumerism feeling a little empty. 

                Why? 

                To begin with, I have to admit that I have a bit of a Pinterest addiction.  And I spend entirely too much time on social media.  This is crucial because when I look at these sites, I am left feeling that my efforts are never enough.  Though I had pictured one and even planned it out, the nags in my head remind me that I didn’t have a perfectly set Thanksgiving table.  I spent so much time perusing cookbooks and grocery store aisles; yet, as my internal critics recall, my dishes were not foodie-worthy.  Besides, my Mom did a majority of the cooking, which my mental detractors are quick to point out was exactly what I didn’t want – I wanted to offer a holiday of respite.  Though because I have a very few recipes within my skill set, she had to spend her day prepping and overseeing, and basically, doing the meal.    One mustn’t forget [because my internal faultfinders won’t let me], that we never completed our thanks giving tree, nor did we  hike all the way down to the edge of the property, nor get Christmas up the day after Thanksgiving, nor fully score or finish the 2^nd Annual Thanksgiving Day Games. 

                So that when I listen to all the voices in my head, telling me (complete with Pinterest and Facebook evidence) how I failed Thanksgiving, I feel I am already beaten for Advent.

                Yet, as fun as Pinterest and Facebook can be, all that fluff and frill and striving isn’t really the point.  Instead, I need to silence denigrators in my head.  And I should be thankful that though we didn’t sit down to silver chargers and crystal goblets, we laughed so hard tears rolled down our cheeks.  The cooking wasn’t perfectly timed, nor did we have an exquisitely rendered playlist in the background; but again, we laughed so hard that we were doubled over in the kitchen.  The house wasn’t decorated with a rustic fall theme, but it was company clean when everyone got here.  Of course, we couldn’t keep it that way – we live in the mountains, there is always dirt or mud or snow being tracked in – but we sat by fires and talked about our histories and dreams and again, we laughed.  When I consider what these holiday gatherings are made of, in the years to come, that is what I will recall: the laughter that fills each.  It’s what I pray my kids remember about their holidays; not that every moment was perfectly choreographed, or sound-tracked, or thematically decorated, but that we played games, cuddled around movies, snuggled and ate too many cookies, acted like silly tourists.  And that we laughed.  So much. 

                Because that’s who I am.  I’m not a decorator.  Nor am I an epicurean or event planner.  I am a be-er, a moment-er.  And that’s what I want my holidays to be about: shared moments and laughter.  Thus I will remind my mental critics.  I am not, nor will I ever be, the consummate hostess.  I am never perfectly quoiffed, my meals aren’t going to make Pinterest rounds, and my home’s interior will never grace a magazine.  And that’s more than okay.  Because I pick laughter and family over those any day.           

                Thus I have been researching ways to bring wonder and joy and meaning to my spirit.  I have found ideas for returning Christmas to its both humble and glorious beginnings; ways to make this a season of worship, and service, and upside-down kingdom, and love, and peace, and most importantly:

Immanuel: God with us.

And I will share the ones that I have found below.  Others I will share as I include them in our holiday-ing.  But what you won’t find, because I am purposing not to worry about, is: when I get the tree up | what it looks like when I do | how beautifully each package under it is wrapped | if I’m giving the right teacher/bus driver/mail carrier gifts | if my kids are getting the present this year | perfect in appearance holiday treats | so-healthy cave people would eat them holiday treats | homemade gifts that were developed by the legions under a certain decorating maven … and others I’m sure that will come to me later.

     For now, because I need to say it out loud, here’s how I’m taking back our advent this year:

1.        I am fasting Pinterest.  Somehow, my holidays got along just fine without it for years.  I bet I can do it again.

2.       I am fasting Facebook.  I am sorry in advance to relatives who may actually care about pictures of my kids’ holiday-ings; e-mail me & I’ll set up an e-mail blast if you’re really concerned about missing out.  But if I’m going to keep myself from coveting the boastful lives of others, then I should count myself out of the problem entirely.  By not boasting either.  The only exceptions to this will be: posting my articles so my faithful readers know they’re up & keeping up with a beautiful group of which I am proud to be a part, the Teal Toes.
 

     3.        I am participating in 4 online advent devotions listed below, for my heart is desperate to follow the star:

http://www.d365.org/followingthestar/  [this is a youth/young adult devotional, but it is accessible and time friendly]

http://just4kidsmagazine.com/advent1.html [this is for young children -- for the minis & me]

http://denverseminary.uberflip.com/i/215736/14 [this one's for me.  Lots of very smart and caring people writing about their Jesus -- so beautiful!]

http://www.aholyexperience.com/2013/12/advent-devotionals-week-01-hope/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+HolyExperience+%28Holy+Experience%29 [Anne Voskamp -- if you don't know her, under what rock have you been hiding?]

4.       I am reviewing the Magnificat weekly, and praying it imprints itself on my heart.

Thank you, dear one, for being here to drown out the voices in my head.  I pray that yours are vanquished already, so that the only One you hear is the God who created you, body, mind, and soul. 

Silent Mondays...Joy Listens

 

 

 

I’m not talking to you anymore. 

At least, not on Mondays, from sun up to sun down.   

Lent snuck up on me this year.  Literally.  I am but 27 minutes from the endings of Shrove Tuesday and have spent about that in prayer or preparation for this season.  For the last few years, I have developed well-thought-out plans to engage in disciplines that will draw my heart to my Beloved’s.  Ways to die to my fettered self and leave tilled soil ready for his transformation to bloom.  But this year, it wasn’t until I was sitting in the school parking lot that I realized that tomorrow (or, rather 23 minutes from now) is Ash Wednesday.  Huh.  Time is a funny thing…

During my hurried reflection, I knew that I wanted to do something different from years past; something that was less me-centered and would focus my heart on the things near to God’s.  I want a mind centered on Him, a heart bent towards His desires, and a life that reflects that to the world. 

So I’ve decided to forgo speaking altogether.

Actually, with 15 minutes to go, here’s what I’m giving up and why.  I’ll write a separate article about each over the weekend, but for now, I just needed to commit to my practice.  And penning a blog was a bit easier (and more ameanable to the Officer) than shaving my head…

1.      On Mondays, I will not speak, will not sing, will not use my voice at all (barring a medical emergency that requires a vocal adult).  I will use this silence to cultivate a posture of listening, first to God and then to my loved ones, and then to a world full of hurting people who need to be heard.  I will still my voice for this season, to keep myself mindful of those who have no voice in their communities, in their homes, in their religions.  That I might pray for those who wonder if even God’s ears are closed to their voices.

2.     Once a week, I will fast.  I will replace one family meal on this day with one composed of only beans or rice or some other food found on the tables of the poor around the world.  I will use the money saved through this discipline to buy food for our local food bank.  We will do this to remember that God provides us with plenty so that we may share it with those who have not.

3.     I will abstain from fast food, to include coffee at that not-so-local java joint, using the money saved through this denial to purchase a farm animal for an impoverished family somewhere else on this blue mote. 

I will blog weekly about my and our family’s experience over this Lenten season.  With only 7 minutes remaining on my computer battery, and 6 until Ash Wednesday, I pray that through these exercises my heart will be  malleable to be further shaped into Christ's likeness; and my spirit filled with the joy that only comes from a deeper relationship with Jesus.

Have a blessed Lent!