December 14, 2004
I have decided to boycott the boycotts. Since Christmas has become a word no one is allowed to say at the risk of offending people, I have made it my mission to wish everyone I meet a “Merry Christmas.” I have yet to encounter anyone who seemed wounded or marginalized by my cheery epithet. In fact, every single person I have said it to (with the possible exception of those who have been schooled not to offend at the Jewel checkout) has responded with an equally jovial “Merry Christmas”. Back atcha.
I grant you, it is a small victory, but maybe it will open the floodgates for an outpouring of happy, religiously-inclined greetings. Come out of your hiding places, ye frightened ones! Let us boldly wish each other “Merry Christmas”! Or let’s be more scandalous, how about, “Blessed Christmas”?
The biggest test will come this Thursday night when I attend my second grader’s public school Winter Concert. Winter concert? It’s been below freezing once this season. Give me a break. I digress. I shall go armed, like Mary Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life, with a spirit full of “Merry Christmases” and will pass them out willy-nilly. I’m as determined to bring Christmas cheer as Old Mr. Potter was bent on ruining it.
It’s a fight between the Baileys and the Potters, and we all know who wins in the end. Merry Christmas.
December 9, 2004
I listen to the Jars of Clay song. “I Need You.” Who is it that I need? “You’re all I’m living for.” Who is the you? All our needing, our seeking-drugs, sex, alcohol, food, tv, exercise (not my drug of choice), lethe, oblivion however you choose it–all roads lead back to Jesus. Whether you, we, I choose him is the only question that bears answering. I have a fatal cut; will hiding it help? I think not. What pours from the wound is life, time, opportunity, and in the end, my soul.
I read Jane Pauley’s autobiography. She talked about approaching life with resistance. What resonance. Why must I be dragged to everything kicking and screaming? I might acquiesce outwardly, but my claws are bloody inside from scraping against walls, floors, anything that might stop the progress. Why am I so afraid? Even when I want to assent, I resist. O wretched man that I am. Who shall deliver me?
Oh yeah, that’s what I started out with. I need you. “You are the shelter from the rain, and the rain to wash me away.” All, all, all I’m living for.
Planning on pulling my other blog, so if you haven’t caught up with Jane and Nicholas, you’d better get to the cliff hanger. They’ll be back.