| My Mom Told Me To Post And I'm Still Scared To Disobey Her |
[Dec. 27th, 2009|10:02 pm] |
-I can't post. I have to finish knitting William's Christmas stocking.
-Which, yes, since you ask, it's too late for use this year, but that's not the point. I have a KNITTING PROJECT! Must knit. Knitting? Imperative.
- I finished Emma's yesterday, but the more I look at it, the less satisfied I am with that one band of patterns, so I'm seriously considering ripping out 25 rows at the bottom and making it better.
-Also, I can't post because I have to watch Jane Eyre again. And again. With a pot of tea. Then I have to re-read the book, but only the good parts, which means St. John is right OUT. Then I have to watch it again, but only if Brian is not in the room because it turns out he doesn't like Jane Eyre because of the crazy first wife. What he doesn't understand is that the crazy first wife is not the point and, besides which, she dies. The POINT is that *I* am Jane Eyre and *HE* is my Mr. Rochester and he could get so laid if he would just get into this movie with me. But, no. So I spend a lot of time sneaking around trying to figure out how to watch Jane Eyre by myself again. and again. and again. Because I am obsessed.
-Also I can't post because all I have to post is that my Christmas was perfect and my family is perfect and I have the cutest kids ever and the awesomenest parents and the bestest sisters and my husband rocks seriously hard and have I mentioned my brother in law recently? What about those nephews and aunts and uncles? Awesome every one. It just feels wrong to type it here and rub it in anyone's face, but that's all I've got. Great gifts, great family, great food, great conversations, total lack of drama, Emma exclaiming, "A gift! For me! THANK YOU!" in the prissiest little girl voice over and over and over for each gift, every single one, I could have wrapped straw and gotten the same response William and his fisher price guitar which he will NOT stop rocking out to, even three days later, and how can I be so mean to not let him sleep with it? Mom putting a rose bud in a vase on the Christmas brunch table to remember and honor my mother in law, not with us for the first time. Perfect, lovely, what everyone wants out of the holiday, I got it.
-And why should I? Driving home from stores on Christmas Eve (because, oops! I have sisters! Who knew! Better go shopping! (what? Don't ask. I was KNITTING how could anyone expect me to remember to get gifts for close, life long, dearly loved family members. Focus, people. I. Was. KNITTING!)) listening to "In The Deep Midwinter" beaming to me over the radio from Kings College in Cambridge (thank you, NPR, you rock) I get caught up with tears over the truth, "What can I give him, poor as I am?" What indeed? I am nothing, NOTHING, except that The Creator of the universe says that I am, and He does! Rare, impossible truth! God loves me, loves me enough to become human like me, loves me enough to suffer unto death on my behalf. Why am I blessed so truly and richly? I can not ever guess. I deserve none of it. I have nothing to give back but my heart, and I give it so imperfectly that I am covered with shame, a shame which He insists I lay down, ignore, and move on from. So I will, but it's been hard this Christmas. I am so, so blessed, and I deserve none of it. Blessed be the name of the Lord.
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| R.I.P. Connie Hines |
[Dec. 23rd, 2009|10:24 am] |
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http://andywhitman.blogspot.com/2009/12/rip-connie-hines.html  Man, tough year for celebrity deaths. Connie Hines, a distant co-star to a horse on '60s sit-com "Mr. Ed," has died.
“She was a girl married to a fellow listening to a horse. Her biggest line was 'lunch is ready,' ” co-star Alan Young said. "The rest of it was reacting to it. Connie never complained. How many actors would react that way?"
It's funny how the media affects one. I'm sorry for Brittany Murphy and her family. But I never connected with her. But I was in love, to the extent that 8-year-olds can be in love, with Connie Hines. I wanted to marry her and raise Palominos. May she rest in peace. |
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| nana and grandpa bugs arrive! |
[Dec. 21st, 2009|03:00 am] |
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http://prechewedworms.wordpress.com/2009/12/21/nana-and-grandpa-bugs-arrive/ http://prechewedworms.wordpress.com/?p=1836 Mom and Dad arrived on Friday to hoots and hollers of joy! Having them for several weeks at a time is definitely a highlight for our family. We’ve wasted no time and have already had a fun and busy weekend. Saturday morning, the kids built snowmen outside with Nana and Grandpa. At 10:30 we all headed over to the rec center to watch Caleb during basketball practice. He told me earlier this week, “I had no idea basketball was such hard work!” He’s thoroughly enjoying every minute of it and loved his fan club! We came home for lunch and some games then headed to the library for their free gingerbread house construction. At 3:00 we popped next store to the rec center once again for a presentation of “Scrooge” which was also free.
Sunday after church, Jeremy, Caleb and Dad broke out the sand blaster and went to work removing the rust on his letterpress machine. Caleb’s report of the progress was “It’s coming off like the wind!” Nana, Faith and I ran to Meijer and Trader Joes for our Christmas groceries. I don’t know about most people, but I actually really enjoy grocery shopping, especially with my mom. Faith’s a good trooper too and I think she actually had fun even though she wasn’t big on the whole idea of coming along with us. At 4:00 we headed over to a neighboring community church for “A Night in Bethlehem”. There were lots of different stations for the kids to try their hands at…bread making, jewelry, pottery (playdough), coloring an ornament and top and then they had a small live nativity with some animals. Everyone there was in costume and it was as if we had all come for the census. It was pretty neat and the kids really enjoyed it.
Lots of fun activities and good times ahead!
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| Favorite Albums of 2009 |
[Dec. 18th, 2009|12:21 pm] |
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http://andywhitman.blogspot.com/2009/12/favorite-albums-of-2009.html The usual disclaimers apply. I’ve made no attempt to calibrate what I like against the rest of the culture. This is what I like. If you don’t like it, that’s fine. But if it doesn’t appear on the list, it either means a) I didn’t hear it, or b) I heard it, but didn’t like it better than the 100 or so albums that appear here.
Oh, another thing: ten means ten. Yeah, I listed a bunch of Honorable Mention albums. That means I cheated a bit. But over and over again I’ve seen people pissed off at these kinds of lists, with indignant lists of their own comprised of the 100 or 200 artists who should have appeared in the Top 10. But ten means ten. Really. And I promise that I counted.
 10. Lucero – 1372 Overton Park
Continuing on in the grand tradition of The Replacements and The Hold Steady, Lucero offer 12 ramshackle, raw bar band tales of scruffy losers and outsiders. There’s great Stones-like riffing. There are Memphis horns. There’s a raspy-voiced poet. What’s not to love?
 9. David Bazan – Curse Your Branches
Bazan breaks up with Jesus, barely hangs on with his family, and writes a wounded song cycle about it, full of anger and confusion. These aren’t merely the most harrowing songs in a career noted for its vulnerability and honesty. They are also the best crafted songs musically, a career high point in the midst of a life low point.
 8. Mount Eerie – Wind’s Poem
Phil Elverum wins the award for combining the most disparate sounds of 2009. Writing songs of epic length, Elverum concocts a mixture of soothing ambience that wouldn’t have been out of place on a David Lynch soundtrack and grating, industrial noise, a sort of black metal lullaby. But good luck sleeping. Beneath the clang Elverum coos disturbing verses about mortality and disintegration. Beautiful and strange.
 7. Florence and the Machine - Lungs
The best pop album I heard this year. Part Kate Bush pagan priestess, part Amy Winehouse R&B belter, Florence Welch unleashes 13 delectable tracks on her debut, some perfect pop/punk confections (see “Kiss With a Fist”), some so woolly and esoteric as to defy categorization entirely (see “Cosmic Love”). All of them are marvelous; there’s no filler.
 6. Dave Perkins – Pistol City Holiness
Stevie Ray lives, sorta. Dave Perkins has backed everybody – Ray Charles, Willie Nelson, and most of the CCM contingent in Nashville. But he steps out here and rips off a brilliant blues/rock hybrid, spraying guitar notes, howling his literate laments and prayers, and engaging in inspired interplay with a red-hot band. This is the blues with a social conscience and a spiritual bent. And with a sense of humor. “I would hang with the Baptists if they could get that girl for me” is still the funniest line I’ve heard all year.
 5. Darcy James Argue’s Secret Society – Infernal Machines
Big band music like you’ve never heard, mixing Ellington arrangements with tape loops and fuzz-toned guitar solos. Argue leaves plenty of room for the soloists, who are incendiary, but the arrangements are still the highlight here. This is big band music the way Duke and Mingus used to play it, but thoroughly immersed in modern sounds and sensibilities.
 4. Aaron Strumpel -- Elephants
In the CCM world, the Psalms have often been used as set pieces for over-the-top emoting and Big Hairdos and Big Smiles for Jesus. Aaron Strumpel strips them back to the basics – tribal percussion, chanting, and occasional wailing, rediscovering the Lament in the Psalms of Lament in the process. Utterly striking and original, Strumpel’s music accentuates the soul in both the music and the words.
 3. Various Artists – Fire In My Bones
This 3-CD set spans sixty years and almost as many stylistic shifts in African-American gospel, offering the best available overview of the music. There's nothing polished to a studio sheen here. These are the unfiltered sounds heard in church services throughout black America, and as such it comes closer to worship music than most of the more sanitized imitators. Raw, raucous, and uplifting, this is music for Sunday morning, Saturday night, and everything in between.
 2. The Felice Brothers – Yonder Is the Clock
The Dylan/Band comparisons are inevitable, but look – Bob Dylan and The Band made some of the best and most timeless music ever. So Ian Felice sounds like Bob Dylan; specifically, like the mid-‘60s electric Dylan on “Chicken Wire,” and like the early ‘60s folkie Dylan on “Cooperstown.” And The Felice Brothers sound like The Band circa The Basement Tapes. You got a problem with that? I don't.
 1. Joe Henry – Blood From Stars
An album about love – human and divine – delivered by a song-and-dance man fronting a jazz/blues combo. And a profound meditation on the intertwined natures of darkness, grace, and change. Joe Henry is the finest songwriter in contemporary American music. His catechism – thirteen songs in this case, bordered by a prelude and an epilogue – teaches me new things about myself, and love, and marriage, and God, every day.
Honorable Mentions
A.C. Newman – Get Guilty
Alasdair Roberts – Spoils
Animal Collective – Merriweather Post Pavilion
The Antlers – Hospice
Antony and the Johnsons – The Crying Light
Arctic Monkeys – Humbug
The Avett Brothers – I and Love and You
The Bats – The Guilty Office
Bibio – Ambivalence Avenue
Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears – Tell ‘Em What Your Name Is
Brandi Carlile – Give Up the Ghost
Buddy and Julie Miller – Written in Chalk
Camera Obscura – My Maudlin Career
The Clientele – Bonfires on the Heath
Dan Auerbach – Keep It Hid
Dan Deacon – Bromst
Dave Rawlings Machine – A Friend of a Friend
The Decemberists – The Hazards of Love
Dinosaur Jr. – Farm
Dirty Projectors – Bitte Orca
Early Day Miners – The Treatment
Eleni Mandell – Artificial Fire
Frank Turner – Poetry of the Deed
Fuck Buttons – Tarot Sport
The Gourds – Haymaker
Gretel – The Dregs
Grizzly Bear – Veckatimest
Hallelujah the Hills – Colonial Drones
I Was a King – I Was a King
Ike Reilly – Hard Luck Stories
Imogen Heap – Ellipse
James Blackshaw – The Glass Bead Game
Josh Garrels – Lost Ahimals
Justin Townes Earle – Midnight At the Movies
Kevin Devine – Brother’s Blood
Laura Gibson – Beasts of Season
Leonard Cohen – Live in London
Levon Helm – Electric Dirt
The Low Anthem – Oh My God, Charlie Darwin
Madeleine Peyroux – Bare Bones
Manchester Orchestra – Mean Everything to Nothing
Marianne Faithfull – Easy Come, Easy Go
Maxwell – BLACKsummers’night
mewithoutYou – It’s All Crazy! It’s All False!
Mos Def – The Ecstatic
The Mountain Goats – The Life of the World to Come
Muse – The Resistance
Neko Case – Middle Cyclone
The Pains of Being Pure at Heart – The Pains of Being Pure at Heart
Passion Pit – Manners
Patrick Watson – Wooden Arms
The Receiver – Length of Arms
The Rural Alberta Advantage – Hometowns
Russian Circles – Geneva
Sondre Lerche – Heartbeat Radio
Southeast Engine – From the Forest to the Sea
St. Vincent – Actor
Sufjan Stevens – The BQE
Telekinesis – Telekinesis!
Trembling Bells – Carbeth
The Twilight Sad – Forget the Night Ahead
U2 – No Line on the Horizon
Watermelon Slim – Escape from the Chicken Coop
Why? – Eskimo Snow
Wild Light – Adult Nights
Will Gray – Introducing Will Gray
Yeah Yeah Yeahs – It’s Blitz |
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| The Mars Volta |
[Dec. 17th, 2009|03:02 pm] |
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http://andywhitman.blogspot.com/2009/12/mars-volta.html  There is no excuse, really. These guys represent everything I hate about prog-metal hyperventillation. They shriek. They change time signatures about every eight seconds. They write indecipherable lyrics that might involve sci-fi themes, might involve horror themes, and might merely involve poor communication skills. It's really hard to tell. But they have decapitated heads on their album covers, and the decapitated heads emit a glowing light from the eye sockets, so I'm guessing there's a horror/sci-fi connection. God only knows.
The thing is, they're an astounding band. Every time I'm ready to write them off -- and I assure you this occurs just about every time I look at an album cover or read the song titles -- I'm stunned by the musicianship. These two guys put Rush, Yes, Frank Zappa, Santana, Return to Forever, Mahavishnu Orchestra, Metallica, Led Zeppelin, and Andres Segovia through the blender, and out comes some of the most outlandish music I've ever heard, all played at breakneck tempos. So yeah, you have to put up with some H.P. Lovecraft allusions, and titles like "Take the Veil Cerpin Taxt" and "Miranda That Ghost Just Isn't Holy Anymore C. Pisacis (Phra-Men-Ma)." Sure thing, dudes. Cedric That Title Just Bites Like Cerberus E. Pluribus (Wot-Tha-Fuk). I don't care. I love 'em anyway. |
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| Come On, Week. COME ON! |
[Dec. 16th, 2009|09:49 pm] |
UGH!
This week has been dragging by, micro-moment by micro-moment, wringing the life out of me with violence and anger and pain. END, WEEK! END!
Here's the run down:
Sunday: rain, cold nasty rain, not enough sleep, flying solo with kids all morning, not wanting to go to church, taking my bad attitude anyways, God makes me work through immature (non) forgiveness issue involving snot and tears (thank you, Kirstin, for praying for me), more cold rain, exhausted carrying of son through cold rain, chaotic church lunch thing, restless-too-deep nap from which I could not wake up, slowly improving but stumbling evening.
Monday: hello period! hello migraine! hello student slipping on wet playground pavement and splitting his lip open into a bloody, 8 stich mess! hello writing in pain in my bed all afternoon and evening! except for that hour when I sat at dinner with my friend who just got some of the suckier job news I've run into recently! hello 12 hours of misery with ice packs utterly powerless to help anyone or anything, including myself!
Tuesday: Migraine, why did you stay? You are supposed to go away after a night's sleep (read: suffering). Emma's Christmas program in which she sat on stage and sucked on her lips and chose to do neither singing nor hand motions and wait, where is MY daughter? Ohhhhh, riiiiight, it turns out Erica gave birth to an individualist who cannot be bothered to conform to the group norm WHO COULD HAVE PREDICTED THAT ONE! Mom and Dad come for dinner - A BRIGHT SPOT! YES!
Wednesday: Can we do origami Ms. Foster? No. Can we participate in Settlers of Catan, Ms. Foster? No. Can we talk all day while you're talking, even, hum through every word you say? Um, no, but I see you're doing it anyways. Wait, what's that? HELLO MIGRAINE! And then my husband twisted his ankle, debilitatingly so. Therefore: come home, three needy people all reaching for me and talking at me at once, hug them all, get them all snacks, clean living room, clean dining room, clean kitchen, do dishes, set table, make dinner, serve dinner to eight, leave early to clean kids room, lay out jammies, leave kids with friends, go to reception, have very cold fun (I was so cold. So cold.), still, BRIGHT SPOT!
Aaaand, scene.
I swear, tomorrow better go faster, and Saturday had better GET here. It feels like last Friday was a month away. I need a break. |
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| today. |
[Dec. 16th, 2009|06:28 pm] |
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http://wordonthestreetis.blogspot.com/2009/12/today.html 
today is a day when i kinda sorta wish that i could just write a blog of all the ins and outs of life. but i'm not. i keep alot of things to myself, and that is ok. today however i feel like sharing and here's what i've got:
joyous news:: a tiny little baby is growing and we are expecting him or her to arrive in july! it's exciting, scary and wonderful all at once. we have to trust God and His timing and just put it all in His hands. we sure do love this baby already though and hopefully that's a good start.
newsy news:: my husband is going to OSU in january to become a school teacher! i'm so excited for him. he loves computers and showing people how to use them so he is going to be a high school vocational computer teacher.
living news:: i love our new apartment! i love it! it feels like home and that is a very good feeling indeed.
christmas news:: i have a couple gifts crossed off my list, none wrapped, a tree up, stockings hung and lots left to do. christmas cards may not get sent this year. my energy gets zapped pretty quick but i'll just save them for next year.
holiday kitchen news:: i made some christmasy chocolate covered pretzels and i plan to make these and nathan made this and i would like to try these .
photography news:: i got my first paying gig assisting the amazingly talented nick fancher with a wedding. i was one of 2 other shooters and i had a blast. sadly i don't think i did very well but it was a great learning experience. i am trying to learn as fast as i can because i do so love taking photos. (by the way - the photo above was taken with my iphone, so not the greatest quality)
that's all i've got for now. happy holidays to you and yours! |
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| David Bazan's Breakup Album |
[Dec. 15th, 2009|02:51 pm] |
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http://andywhitman.blogspot.com/2009/12/david-bazans-breakup-album.html  With the threat of hell hanging over my head like a halo
I was made to believe in a couple of beautiful truths
That eventually had the effect of completely unraveling
The powerful curse put on me by you
When you set the table
When you chose the scale
Did you write a riddle that you knew they would fail?
Did you make them tremble
So they would tell the tale
Did you push us when we fell?
If my mother cries when I tell her what I discovered
Then I hope she remembers she taught me to follow my heart
And if you bully her like you did me with fear of damnation
Then I hope she can see you for what you are
When you set the table
When you chose the scale
Did you write a riddle that you knew they would fail?
Did you make them tremble
So they would tell the tale
Did you push us when we fell?
What am I afraid of?
Who did I betray?
In what medieval kingdom does justice work that way?
If you knew what would happen
And you made us just the same
Then you my Lord can take the blame
-- David Bazan, "When We Fell"
David Bazan is breaking up with Jesus. The former CCM star and mouthpiece for Christian indie rockers Pedro the Lion is calling it quits. It's been nice. Maybe we can stay friends, J. But I can no longer call you Lord and Savior.
That's a message that is repeated over and over again on Bazan's latest album, Curse Your Branches. It's not the only message, though. There's also the one about what a screwup David Bazan is, stumbling home drunk, wrecking his marriage, letting down his little daughter. Curse Your Branches is many things: theological diatribe, combative response to family and "friends" who want to label him as lost, finger-pointing missive to all the naysayers and Pharisees. But mostly it's an apology for being a jerk. And because it's made by David Bazan, it's an eloquent apology, open-hearted, vulnerable, angry, and very sad, all set to the most varied and layered music the man has ever made. It's a hell of an album, and I mean that in both the best and worst senses of the term. It's a series of beautifully written, painful songs about a man dragging himself and those he loves through the beshitted back alleys of a desperate life. It's one of my favorite albums of the year, if "favorite" is still an appropriate term to use for something so voyeuristic and heart-rending.
Predictably and sadly, it's been met with confusion and judgment on the part of Bazan's former audience. I suppose that's what we do best; be confused and judge people. You'll have to pardon my cynicism. Apparently I'm not a fan of the former fans.
But the former fans -- at least some of them -- are fairly vocal. When Curse Your Branches was named by Christianity Today Magazine as one of the best albums of 2009, the backlash started immediately. How could a so-called Christian magazine call an album by a self-labeled agnostic as one of the best albums of the year? Isn't Dave Bazan a drunk? How can we reward people who sin when that music may be heard by our young, impressionable children?
I don't know David Bazan, although I've been around him. He shows up at Calvin College's Festival of Faith and Music, listens, takes it all in, talks openly to anybody who wants to chat with him, and typically puts on one of the best shows of the weekend. He's a guy who has been wounded by the Church, and who has undoubtedly made some bad decisions along the way. Welcome to the human race, Dave. You are loved, dude. That's all I got. Sorry. Well, that and you made a hell of a painfully good album. I hope it gets better for you.
In the meantime, those of you who appreciate great songwriting, and who don't mind some theological wrestling, would do well to listen to Curse Your Branches. For what it's worth, I can't imagine not asking the questions David Bazan asks. |
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| The Meaning of Christmas |
[Dec. 14th, 2009|10:19 am] |
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http://andywhitman.blogspot.com/2009/12/meaning-of-christmas.html  The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned.
-- Isaiah 9:2
The worst Christmas I can remember occurred sometime in the mid-1970s. I don’t recall the precise year. I was home from college for Christmas break. My younger sisters were in early adolescence. My mother was in late alcoholism. My father may or may not have been around. I can never recall him being around during those years.
The presents were unwrapped. There was a turkey thawing in the kitchen sink. My mother was passed out on the living room couch. There would be no Christmas dinner, or, at best, there would be an evening trip to whatever burger joint had managed to stay open on December 25th. I didn’t really care about the presents. Or maybe I did, because I also recall that I hadn’t received the only present I really wanted. I wanted the new Pink Floyd album. My parents bought me Joni Mitchell instead. It was already a long afternoon, and it promised to be a much longer evening, so I retreated to the relative safety of my bedroom and slapped on Joni’s Blue album. I didn’t know the music, but some of it seemed to resonate. “I wish I had a river I could skate away on,” Joni sang, and I wished I had one too.
At some point during the evening there were shouts and curses and broken plates, carving knives that never touched a turkey, but which attempted to touch human flesh. My mother wasn’t just a drunk; she was an angry drunk. And she sported by chasing people around the house with knives. Shortly before she would have stabbed my sister I slugged her. I hit her as hard as I could, right under the jaw. I’m not a boxer. I don’t know how to deliver an uppercut. But it stunned her long enough for me to round up my sisters and get them in the car. We drove off to a motel. I didn’t have any money. I was a poor college student. I didn’t know how I was going to pay for any of this. We didn’t pack. We didn’t have any underwear, or toothbrushes. But we had ourselves, and that was enough.
I became a Christian right around that time. “Became” is really a euphemistic term because I’m still becoming a Christian, and there’s so much I still get wrong. But if “became” meant surrendering, flying the white flag of incompetence and sorrow and utter, overwhelming terror, then that’s what I did. Here God, please fix this. It’s too fucked up for me.
And God didn’t fix it. It got worse. My father’s absences and marital infidelities continued. My mother’s alcoholism and violence escalated. My sisters endured abuse. And in a results-driven world, I was sorely tempted to give up on God. What good are you? I mean it. Literally. What good are you? What good do you do? I’ve asked those questions again and again during my life. There’s a nice theological term that encapsulates the groaning: theodicy. Basically it comes down to this: If God is good, and all powerful, then why do the human beings He supposedly loves have to deal with such overwhelming shitstorms? In personal terms, behold your beloved child, delivering an uppercut to the woman from whom he suckled, so that she wouldn’t commit murder. Why? How is this evidence of overwhelming good and power?
I know Christians who tell me they don’t doubt. They are as alien to me as four-headed, purple Martians. I can’t imagine a life of faith without doubt. I can’t even envision what that would look like. And if you haven’t yet experienced the utter disconnect between an all-loving, all-powerful God and the unfathomable sorrow of a completely broken world and your completely broken life, I have only three words for you: just you wait. You will. You’ve just been lucky up to now.
Why not just give up, then? Why not throw in the Motel 6 towel, or wherever the hell you spent that wretched Christmas night? The only answer that I can give, the only rationale that makes sense to me, is that in the midst of the unanswered questions, in the midst of the real pain that I have experienced and that I have inflicted on others, there is some evidence that God is in the business of fixing me. And even the path toward wholeness is confusing. It’s full of sidetracks and detours, two-steps-forward-and-three-steps-back days and months and years, stupid choices, regrettable words, pompous declarations and arrogant pronouncements, and, sometimes, a greater inclination to get outside the Kingdom of Me and really care about others, a movement toward what is good and true and life affirming, a rejection of escape and numbness in favor of life in all its prickly, scary, glorious in-your-faceness, a greater awareness that all of it – this whole beautiful, fucked up planet and all the people on it – is a gift, a source of pain, yes, and a source of great joy.
Lord have mercy. Literally. What good am I without Him?
There’s been a fair amount of academic debate about the actual time of the year when Jesus was born. Most scholars seem to favor the early spring, perhaps some time in late March or early April. But we celebrate his birth in late December. If you prefer, you can hold on to the view that the date was changed to rope in the pagans with their winter solstice celebrations. I’ll hold on to the notion that the light dawns at the very peak of darkness and desperation. At the darkest time of year, Christ comes.
According to the liturgical calendar, this time of year is called Advent. It is a time of waiting in darkness, waiting for the light to dawn. We are not good at waiting. I am not good at waiting. God hasn’t fixed everything. I look back at my life, and there are some real sorrows there. Some of them I had no control over. They just happened. And some of them are my own doing, and some of them were done in the process of becoming a Christian. During Advent we sing the carol “O Come, O Come Emmanuel.” It is a song of yearning, of longing. Come fix this. Emmanuel means God with us. And because God is with us, with me, the old, tawdry life must and will change. I believe that more than ever. I am becoming. |
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