Let's Talk About Christmas, Shall We?

Let’s talk about Christmas, shall we?

For the better part of my adult life, I’ve struggled a great deal with Christmas.  As much as I enjoyed Christmas as a child, I’ve dreaded Christmas as an adult.  It’s been too much for too long.  The season is always so full of unmet expectations that I’ve found myself tending to grieving more that rejoicing

But something seems to have happened over the last few years – four, to be exact.  It seems Advent must be a part of my chemical DNA, and I didn’t know it.  So, I haven’t lived into the season the way I was created to.  Raised as a Baptist, most of my life has been lived with no knowledge of Advent, so there’s been no appreciation for darkness, waiting, pondering, living in anticipation of…like a baby born with no pregnancy, I’ve been expected to enter Christmas without the womb.  Maybe that’s it.  I don’t really know, but the shift began in 2009.  Even before the end of October that year, I found myself once again in the funk of Christmas—it happened no matter how determined I was that it wouldn’t happen. No matter how hard I tried to escape it, the Christmas funk settled on me as surely as Christmas Past haunted Scrooge. 

Then one Sunday morning toward the end of November, 2009, Andy Parker made a statement in his sermon that began the shift: “This isn’t Christmas; it’s the season of Advent, when we search for the Light.”

Something mystical and spiritual was planted inside my heart with that statement, and I began on December 1 working each day in a small art journal I entitled, The ABC’s of Advent.  I went on an adventure of the soul, looking for Light.  And the very first entry began with a prayer for a “shift” in my relationship with Christmas.

The next Christmas was so painful I skipped it altogether, and chose instead to go on Sabbatical, a solitary trip for almost three weeks.  I didn’t come home until after the first of the year.  The resistance before the breakthrough - perhaps that time gave me the “space” I needed for something “new” to come.  I’m still not sure what happened, but the last two Christmases have been delicious.  And nothing’s really changed.

So, I sat down this morning and just pondered “the shift”.  My personal experience of the Christian journey has been one of subtraction, instead of addition.  It seems to me that the one constant call of Christ is to “Let it go, give it up, lay it down, less is more, to die is gain.” And I have fought that call every step of the way, only to find that life really does come more fully as we let go of our expectations of “what’s it all supposed to be about anyway?”

I think, for me, Advent and (believe it or not) my Pagan friends have supplied the missing link in learning to respect the darkness and to allow it.  Christianity (as I’ve previously known it) focuses so much on the Light that it seems to disallow the darkness, the mystery, the womb-time.  I just finished re-reading “Longing for the Darkness”.  Interesting how I long for the darkness as I look for the Light.  Paradox, isn’t it.  But the darkness is so necessary to the Light.  It’s only in the juxtaposition of the two that we can even see light, which says to me, “Pay attention.  Darkness is part of the equation.  It’s as necessary as the Light it.”

There is a darkness that’s necessary and life giving.  It seems to me that for the most part, our Christian Scriptures tend to ignore that darkness and speak only of the darkness of evil.  I am a child both of the darkness and the light.  And Advent gives me the time I need to gestate the new life of Light.  At least, that’s what it feels like. Nicodemus asked Jesus if he had to re-enter the mother’s womb in order to be born again.  I think Jesus might have smiled as he continued his conversation with Nick, because I suspect that’s exactly what’s required for new birth.  We have to enter into the Womb of Advent in order to be able to receive the Light of Christmas.  Meister Eckhart indicated that we even have to become a Womb in order for Spirit to give birth.  How could we overlook that—in order to be born again, we have to die first.  And Advent, for me, is that preparation.  All of the Christmas hoopla is too much to be flung at us for 3 months.  My gosh, it’s like a 36-hour labor! 

I so appreciate Advent at St. Timothy’s.  There’s no hoopla—no extended season of carols, no decorations until “Just the right moment”.  It makes for a shorter labor.  Christmas needs a time of preparation, quietness, solitude, darkness, resistance, breathing, and of breakthrough.  Like a little baby being born after the dark time in its Mother’s womb, Advent gives me much needed space to prepare for the brightness of Christmas.  It takes time for my heart to be prepared to receive the Christ Child, time to prepare the Inn so there will be room for Him to be born.  Advent slows me down and gives me time to rest in the middle of all the hoopla.  It shortens the labor and makes birth easier.

Christmas Eve, and my mind is whirling.  It has been for a few days now.  I keep thinking: “What exactly do I believe?  What is it that keeps me ‘positive’, hopeful (full of hope)? Am I just a “Pollyanna” who lives with rose-colored glasses?  Why is it that I find myself inside of Joy and Love, more than sadness or death?  Is it that my life is so much easier that others? What do I really believe about life?

So, this morning, I feel compelled to sit down and write—to perhaps organize my thoughts, put them down on paper, in black and white, to somehow sit with them, to test them, to see what is Truth for me.  And this is what I’ve come up with so far.

I have not always been a happy-go-lucky Pollyanna.  Ask my husband.  For years, Jim has asked the perpetual question, “Did my lady have fun today?”  And for years, my wry reply has been “The point of life is NOT to have fun.”  But something has happened over the last few years, and there is a current of joy that seems to continually flow through my life these days.  And, “Yes Jim, I seem to have more fun now-a-days.”

So, why?  How did this happen?  Jesus said, “I have come to give you life; life more abundant.”  One of the fruits of the Spirit is “joy”.  Abundant life and joy have been missing most of my years.  But over the last few years, something has changed.  For the most part, I love living my life.  I enjoy being Sheila Conner.  I enjoy my relationships, and I’ve even fallen in love with “the world” around me in some crazy kind of way.  Just last week, I told my massage therapist, “I love my life, and I feel so loved. I live in a universe that is love. I am cared for, and I know it.  Why do I ever doubt tomorrow—I have never been left alone.” So, what??? Name it, Sheila.

I believe in God – not an old white man “upstairs”, nor a “God” out there, who has a white beard, but I believe in a Universal Presence/Intelligence that is trustworthy and ultimately good.  I believe in a Good Presence that permeates time and space, and even matter—It permeates even the cells of my own body so that I cannot tell where It begins and I end—yet, It exists without me, even though I cannot exist without It. This Universal Presence is LifeSource, Ground of All Being, Love, and I live and move and have my Be-ing inside this Source, even as It lives and moves and has It’s Be-ing inside of me.

I believe it takes more energy to resist this Flow of Life than it does to open to it and allow it.  But, resist it I can.

I believe Life needs a reference point, so what is my reference point?  Jesus.  Wow…It always seems to come back to the Man we know as Jesus (who’s birthday we celebrate tomorrow by the way).  Jesus always has been, and I guess at this rate He always will be, my reference point.  I may love the Black Madonna, the Goddess, Mary Magdalene, Sophia, Hagia Sophia, but even them I love and embrace in reference to Jesus.  He has been all things to me: Father, Brother, Friend, Companion, Husband, Lover, Spouse, Partner, Teacher, Way Shower, Truth Giver – all things.  When I come back to Center, it is always in reference to my relationship with Jesus and his journey to the cross, the ultimate reference point.  When I lose my focus, I see hundreds of partials, with fly eyes; but when I come to Center, connect to Ground, my eyes refocus and my experience of Jesus becomes once again my reference point.

I believe my Ground is Love.  That’s where my roots go—straight down into the richest of soil, Love: God’s great love for me and for all sentient beings.  I am rooted and grounded in the Goodness of Ultimate Presence.

And Love requires me to let go of the old stories that perpetuate the story that I am a victim.  As long as I keep repeating the old stories of who has wronged me or what has gone wrong in my life, those old stories remain alive; they take on a life of their own and become my reference point.  What may have been true 50 or 60 years ago is not necessarily true today.  What happened to me as a child or a young adult cannot continue to be blamed for who/what I am today. As an adult, I have not only the capacity, but the responsibility to become the Good Mother and/or Good Father to my wounded child, and to stop blaming others for the injustices done to me.  The old stories have to be broken open.  Cracks in the story have to appear…that’s how the Light gets in.

Recently one of my priests, Andy Parker, shared a poem with our Centering Prayer group:

Prayer at Winter Solstice

Blessed is the road that keeps us homeless.

Blessed is the mountain that blocks our way.

Blessed are hunger and thirst, loneliness and all forms of desire.

Blessed is the labor that exhausts us without end.

Blessed are the night and the darkness that blinds us.

Blessed is the cold that teaches us to feel.

Blessed are the cat, the child, the cricket, and the crow.

Blessed is the hawk devouring the hare.

Blessed are the saint and the sinner who redeem each other.

Blessed are the dead calm in their perfection.

Blessed is the pain that humbles us.

Blessed is the distance that bars our joy.

Blessed is this shortest day that makes us long for light.

Blessed is the love that in losing we discover.

 ~  Dana Goia, Image 73, Spring 2012

I find it so interesting that this poem blesses resistance.  It’s crazy, but it just might be that in blessing the resistance, our armor begins to crack.  I have a body that, thanks to fibromyalgia, feels resistance, even the slight tinges of it.  And as I’ve learned to recognize the resistance, to bless it, and to allow the resistance to relax inside of me, the walls of Jericho come down—thick, stone, armored walls of blame, rejection, anger, and fear seem to tumble, and in all that rubble, I can find Truth.  It is my own resistance to life and love that keep me inside any prison walls. On the other side of that brick wall is Love.  Love waits for me.

My truth, the one I’ve discovered over the last few years, is to bless the resistance, relax, and let the walls tumble.  Let the old stories go. Release the blame, and the light come in through those cracks in the walls.

There IS a Love stronger than death…It won’t die without me, but I shall die without It. And in Love, there is no room for blame anymore.  There is no room in this Inn for anything but Love and an open heart.

PS: This was written Christmas Eve morning, but I've been unable to post because my Internet has been off and on down.  But maybe there's another reason.  This post was written in response to an ongoing "conversation" with a friend of mine who has a very different experience of life than I do, and even as I wrote this, I knew I was still feeling resistance.  Over the last couple of days, I realized the resistance is that I can't fore-feed her my experience of Love.  I once more agonize with the 5 virgins of Scripture who were unable to give their oil away.  We cannot give our joy and our experience in God to someone else, especially if there is resistance to receiving the Good News.  And there's my own point of resistance.  There's got to be some place in the middle where we can meet and still relate, but I don't know how.  So for now, the only thing I know to do is wait, be still, breathe, and trust that the resistance - at least my own, will pass. I wish for my friend all things beautiful. I wish for my friend the joy of knowing the Lover of my soul. That's all I know how to do.

Subtraction and My Mother

I’ve been running on adrenaline for a couple of months now, and I think I’m running low. I am very tired today, and very sad—lonely. Lonely with the knowing that I am losing a very precious part of my life – my mother and my best friend.

I recently read this line from “Longing for Darkness”: Who is leaving, and who will return? I’ve considered it a number of times during the last couple of weeks.

How many times do seemingly unremarkable happenings in our lives bring such huge changes that we literally “return” as someone totally different from who “left”?

That happened for both us when Mother came to live here with Jim and me over 10 years ago.  Neither of us expected nearly the changes that came to our lives, as well as the greatest gift either of us have ever had, a remarkable friendship. Both of our lives have been changed so much that we are someone totally different than who we were when she moved here in 2002.

And each present-day leaving and returning changes both of us even now.

Two months ago, we packed her bags, left her little house downstairs, and moved her into Cypress Woods, a nursing home nearby.  Then, two weeks ago she left again, this time she left Cypress Woods in an ambulance and went to the hospital. She had fallen and broken her hip.  Both of those “leavings” have so changed our lives.

Many years ago, I felt Spirit whisper to me that the journey of life was more about subtraction that addition.  I’ve found that to be true.

I don’t really know what to write, but I need to write.  I want to write.  Tears have been welling up all morning.  My body has been hurting a lot over the last few days—always a sign to me that it’s in stress.  Adrenaline has helped me ignore it, but not today.  I feel the sadness, the grief, the loneliness, and the loss immensely.  So perhaps it’s time to be still, to sit with the pain and the grief, and to simply let it be.

I have an accuser in my brain who tells me I’m being “melodramatic”, but I miss my mother so much.  Not so much as “Mother”, but as friend, companion, sister, and confidante. I miss grabbing my coffee early in the morning and running downstairs in my jammies to tell her of some incredible “new” thought that’s buzzing around in my head.  We’ve laughed so much over the years about her being my “captive audience”.  When I’ve just had to “preach”, she’s been so willing to listen. And now, she can’t hear me anymore.  Not because she’s deaf or dying, but because her own pain and grief is so consuming. 

In so many ways, the woman I’ve been dealing with for the last two months hasn’t been the woman I’ve known for the last 10 years; yet, she’s had to give up so much.  She’s lost so much that it’s finally become a burden to her, a grief, a suffering that feels beyond any suffering she’s experienced in the past.  There is no blame, only grief on both out parts that she’s having to live into her death this way.

This isn’t what either of us bargained for.  I’ve promised her so many times that I wouldn’t let anyone use extreme measures to keep her alive, that I wouldn’t let her lie helpless and suffer; yet that’s exactly where we find ourselves.  She is helpless and she is suffering – and so am I.  And there’s nothing I can do to ease her pain or make her comfortable.  It is what it is.

And it’s not fair.  Death would be preferred by both her and me; yet death doesn’t come.  A few days ago, she told me that she had been talking to Daddy because God wasn’t listening.  We laughed, but on some level, we cried because it seems true.

Dying is just damn hard sometimes.  It takes incredible strength and courage—both of which grow very low after such a long time. It seems to take a lot of deaths before the final one comes.  And Mother’s suffered many deaths: my dad, her eyesight, her breasts, her independence, her capacity to drive and care for herself, her hearing to some extent, and most recently her mobility.  And now, even the capacity to turn over by herself, or to even wipe her own butt.  That’s where we both drew the line; yet, it’s happened, in spite of the promises we made to each other.

I’m sad for her – and I’m sad for me.  It’s hard to stand by and watch.  My tendency is to get angry.  Lately she been angry, too.  Yet, that’s only because we are both afraid.  Not of death, but of this damned dying process that is so debilitating.

So, today, on this beautiful sunshiny day, I’ll let the tears fall.  I’ll let the curse words come.  I’ll feel the pain in my body and I’ll agree that sometimes life seems shitty.  And I’ll ask for relief for both of us.  And I’ll thank Love Itself for giving us the grandest 10 years ever, for giving us the gift of friendship, for giving us great respect for one another, for giving us faith, hope, joy, and peace in the middle of this momentary hell.  Relief will come. Perhaps later rather than sooner, but it will come.  Either she’ll get well and regain some of what she seems to have lost, or Sister Death will finally call her home.  And when the Great Relief does come for her, it will also come for me.  I will so terribly miss her.  I already do. I will miss her laughter, her deep, deep wisdom, her grace, her tenderness, her love of learning, her love of life, and her great passion for growth.  She has given me so very much of herself.  And today, I miss her terribly.  She has been the face and arms of God for me for the last 10 years. The Great Mother incarnated in my own mother’s life.  I looked for God with all my heart, and I found Her in the face of my mother, and I loved Her deeply. And She has taught me to love my Self.

Until relief comes, I don’t even know how to pray or what to hope for, except peace for her.  She deserves so much more than this.  And yet, even in this, Grace comes, through kind nurses and aides, friends, and even the capacity to put our feelings into words on a page.