Auld Lang Syne

I asked Google what those words actually mean - Auld Lang Syne - I've sung it for years as this very day breaks into tomorrow and realized I've been breaking the rule we hold our children to of not saying (or singing) words we don't know the meaning of. Here's what I found out thanks to dictionary.com: the words are from the Scot tradition and literally mean "old long since" and refer to old times, especially times fondly remembered or an old or long friendship. Fascinating - especially I heard on the radio about 20 minutes ago that 2021 has decided to take America's best friend, Betty White, away from us today - talk about adding insult to injury. Yet I'll probably still sing these words when the clock strikes bedtime (which may or may not be before midnight). So this afternoon I'm pondering the fond times and old friendships of this relative dumpster fire of a year and I've landed on the fact that 2021 was a year of revelation and realization. For starters - this Christmas break has been overflowing with opportunities to truly take a break. Preschool and graduate school ended within 36 hours of each other and I'm not taking a Jan term class, so I have literally been able to unplug. It was initially a challenge, I teetered on the edge of boredom but didn't succumb, and here's what almost 2 whole weeks unplugged looked like for me:

• I've composed 2 blog posts - I don't remember the last time I did this within a week's span, but gosh it has felt like home to write creatively again
• I've swept and mopped our floors twice - if this is something you do  weekly, please don't tell me. Little gives me the simple joy like the feel of clean floors under my bare feet and rarely do I have bandwidth to mop this frequently
• I read a book for FUN - in 2 days - and didn't have to post something on Moodle (if you know, you know) or write a paper about it...more about that later...
• I've taken naps - that's plural - on more than one day of this break
• I've left my computer OFF for more than one day - JOY!
• We've had great family time - immediate and extended. There have been board games, laughs, movies and football

But the revelation part of 2021? WHOA - that fun book I read? It shone a light on some pieces of my self that need some work. I don't make New Year's resolutions because I straight up don't keep them, but now that I know some of these things about myself, the trajectory of 2022 has been defined. Here's what has been revealed:

• I have gotten so busy I haven't done the work to invest in community. When we moved to Marietta, I decided this was a pre-determined temporary stop on our path back to Vancouver. We told the kids not to get too invested in our house because we were going to sell it the minute Lydia graduated and downsize or move back to Vancouver. I told myself I could take some years of driving everywhere because we'd soon enough move back to Vancouver and be able to walk everywhere again. Do you sense a theme? I've gotnwork to do on that "bloom where you're planted" bit. This Christmas Philip gave me Indigo Girls tickets and everyone I was comfortable inviting to go with me to that concert lived out of town, except one person. And then I read Sophie Hudson's book, Stand All the Way Up: Stories of Staying in it When You Want to Burn it All Down. She wrote about a Christmas Eve when she, her husband and her son spent the evening alone eating at a Popeye's and how she realized the importance of leaning into community. I felt like I'd been hit in the face with a frying pan because my introvert really loves to be at home but I also love to have friends to share Indigo Girls with who live nearby. I know lots of people, but I haven't tried to let very many people know me - this, friends, is a growing edge and means I may have to wear a bra more in my 'off' time, engage in conversation when my words are worn out, ask for help (growing edge #2), and make some friends with whom I can spend an evening!
• In the midst of growing my education, I've let my physical self go. I immediately gained weight when we moved back to the States (see above reference to driving everywhere). See also - mac and cheese is a vegetable here, so is cornbread... See also - Moodle posts and paper writing aren't typically active engagements other than mentally. See also - perimenopause and it's trickery (at this point, I must implore you if you've ever made fun of a woman and her hot flashes in your life, stop IMMEDIATELY what you are doing, go to them, fall to your knees, beg for mercy, and apologize like you life depends on it - HOT FLASHES ARE NO JOKE). This year, I'm going to try to get stronger - would love to lose weight, but would love more to feel strong. That means moving more, looking more intently for audio books to listen to while walking, and creating opportunities for Forced Family Fun that are outside.
• 2020 + 2021 = feeling angry and frustrated a lot of the time. The goal for 2022 is to shift focus of that anger away from trying to resolve it and move toward healing it. Remembering that depression  is anger turned inward reminds me that I don't want anger to fester, I don't want to push it down or wallow in it either - it's toxic. Sophie Hudson suggested looking at our anger in a confessional style, naming that it needs redemption and I'm going to give that a whirl too. It sounds freeing just reading about it and seems like it makes better space for good times that I'll remember fondly when I sing Auld Lang Syne this time next year.

There's something scary about putting all this into the real world, but there's something liberating about it too - maybe writing the words will cement them in my being and solidify them as my intention. Maybe writing them down where I can read them again will remind me that reading books for fun and naps should be part of life even when we aren't on break. Maybe, sharing these words so publicly will make me feel more accountable. Whatever the case, I hope when we're back together in 2022 that life feels a bit more manageable, that in the next 12 months we can find other Betty Whites to look to as examples of longevity and good sense, that new friendships will have been cemented so they are able to grow into old friendships. Happy New Year, friends - may our growing edges make themselves known and may we all figure out how we can love our neighbours more intentionally and better than we have yet.

Silent Night

There were a lot of years that Christmas wasn't really Christmas unless I stood with my family in a darkened sanctuary and watched light grow as a flame was passed from candle to candle while singing Silent Night. There was something about singing those words in the glow of candles with no other sounds than voices singing that reoriented me to the space and time that is Christmas Eve. 

The Silent Night years  were followed by the chaos of family Christmas Eve services - affectionately known as Bedlam in Bethlehem - where our children participated in an impromptu Christmas pageant. I couldn't tell you the final song of those years because I was just hoping neither of my children fell down the chancel steps or pulled off Mary's headgear. The family service marked the beginning of what was sometimes a very long night of assembly and coordination.

Since the family service years, we've bobbled about looking for our place on Christmas Eve - sometimes at a chuch service, sometimes with friends, last year reading the Christmas story with friends in their home. I haven't found that same moment of reorientation that pre-dated the family service years just yet. I don't know if it's because the chaos and joy and anticipation palpably present among the children with crooked haloes and makeshift costumes imbedded itself in me more than I realized, or if it's because I find it harder to shut everything out save the words of that hymn. But the words are imbedded deep within me regardless of the noise with which they compete:

Silent night, holy night!
All is calm, all is bright.
Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child.
Holy infant so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly peace.

Silent night, holy night!
Shepherds quake at the sight.
Glories stream from heaven afar
Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia,
Christ the Saviour is born!
Christ the Saviour is born

Silent night, holy night!
Son of God love’s pure light.
Radiant beams from Thy holy face
With dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus Lord, at Thy birth
Jesus Lord, at Thy birth.

This is always my favourite Christmas picture - I take it every year. But it's just a snapshot in time and somehow reminds me of the power of silence and being still. Thematically, it would have been far better if this brief moment where the living room was clean and peaceful had happened at night, but it's real life. And maybe that's why I like this picture so much - real life breaks into our silence, interrupting our quest for spotless holiness, and that frustrates me but this photo captures a moment of peace and quiet. I find there's power in carving out time to be still and I think that's why singing Silent Night in a darkened sanctuary making space for light to grow on Christmas Eve is such a touchpoint for me. 

I'm reminded of how Mary and Joseph must have felt after Jesus' birth - when the chaos of the birthing process had calmed, the sun was nowhere in sight and it was just the new family of three nestled in the barn with animals watching. Holy silence on that first Christmas had to be overwhelming but they leaned into it and trusted their child's destiny. I wonder if we carve out silence for ourselves if we will hear the still, small voice that guides us on our way to who we're called to be. I wonder if we stop and really try to block out the noise of the world, if we can let all of the weight of our emotions wash through us so they don't get stuck in us and if we'll find sleep and heavenly peace.

Friends - we're living in dense times but the words of the angels still ring true - "Do not be afraid" for good news has come. May we make room for holy silence, for despair to pass through so there is room for hope. And tonight, on this Christmas Eve, may be reorient ourselves to the grace and mystery of that first Christmas knowing the greatest hope came in the form of a tiny baby. Tonight - maybe our family will go back to the family service to reacquaint ourselves with joyful anticipation and the invitation to imperfection in celebrating Jesus' birth. After all - tradition for tradition sake can be an empty shell if it makes no space for God to break in and turn things upside down.

Reclamation

I'm at a conference delightfully titled "Word Wise" and I've just had the sobering realization that while I fancy myself a writer, I haven't actually written any words just for myself in over six months. It's hard to become what you vision yourself to be if you're not living like its your reality. So here I am - back in the saddle - grateful not to be writing research papers or Covid procedure manuals or emails to preschool parents about updated protocols. The last time I blogged in this space - a space that gave me life and chronicled our family's 4 year adventure in Canada - was Christmastime 2020. In truth, that was the last time it felt like there was time to put words to paper that weren't driven by the outside world and the crises that seem to fuel everyday life. Yet this space is where I come to be most truly myself, truly alive; I wonder why this sacred space is the very space I neglect when the weight of the world intensifies and my soul gets weary? It seems I'd be better served if this were my default, but somehow the crises out there seem to overshadow the in here. 

2021 - not gonna lie - I'm done with you. I do not want to wish time away as I realize how fleeting she is, but seriously child, you have GOT to throw us a bone. Just as pandemic crisis was seemingly beginning to abate allowing me to feel the weariness coursing through me, you've gone and turned up the heat - piling weary on top of weary. There is so much noise, so many opinions, so little grace, so little dialogue - and coming to this safe place to process is overwhelming. Even trying to put into words the pinball game inside my head and heart make me want to close my laptop and go back to writing policies and protocols. Those are safe - they're antiseptic, sterile, emotionless. The require zero vulnerability, zero introspection, zero investment. I let myself off the hook from the vulnerability, introspection and investment in the interest of trying to keep preschoolers in school and reassure parents we are doing the allwecan to prevent the spread of allthethings, most especially this persistent virus that has invaded our lives and seemingly intends to stick around for a long visit. It clearly doesn't buy into the notion that fish and uninvited guests smell after three days.

But this virus did give us (well at least me) a gift - I can see it after I dig through the fear that tried to mask it and the anxiety that tried to blur my vision - a time when the world slowed down and we gave ourselves permission to breathe, to stop, to un-busy ourselves. And if I'm really honest, I miss that slower pace. It was jarring when the world stopped on March 13, 2020 (that's when it stopped in Marietta, GA because schools, churches, and businesses all shut down). It's cute we all thought it was going to be a two week gig. I've found it even more jarring, however, that somewhere around April 2021 my little corner world seemed to jump back into March 1, 2020 mentality with no ramp up. I've wondered why and I didn't resist it more, but I chalk that up to being worn out too. The messages I kept hearing were about getting "back to normal" - I'm sick of hearing that. What even is "normal"? I really don't know anymore. In fact, one of the items on my to-do list is to redefine normal so I can hopefully work toward it.

Things I know I'm ready to scratch off the list of normal:

• Not being able to have a different opinion from someone else without that somehow being a character flaw
• Being convinced that Covid would be gone if they (whoever has the opposite philosophy) would just do what we know is right 
• Seeing our children jerked around by schools' bouncing between in-person and virtual learning as we administrators try like mad to do the best we can in these unprecedented times
• Hearing the words unprecedented times
• Feeling like we're all on a collective roller coaster that goes on forever and the operator has left their station and we'll never get off (maybe THIS is the real Hotel California?)

BUT - this is the hand we've been dealt. What if we bagged this notion of finding normal and really made a concerted effort to find mutual respect? What if we let go of needing to be right and made space for multiple philosophies? What if we sought intentionally to embrace that we're all a part of a bigger whole instead of living like we have to stake our claim and not allow others in? What if we valued kindness as much as we value success?

Do I think these shifts would make pandemics go away? Not on your life. But I do think they'd make doing life a lot more palatable and a lot more graceful and that we may just glimpse a peek of what God intended for this third rock from the sun. These are dense times - it's been denser than normal for almost 18 months. My goal for the coming months? Return to this space, don't get distracted by the noise, do the work of vulnerability, introspection and investment and try to reclaim who I know in my bones I'm meant to be. I wonder if some of the weariness may fade if I recalibrate and refocus - I suppose only time will tell - but I'm hopeful.