I was standing in line at Starbucks this morning for my Venti French Roast and the woman behind the counter said, “here. This is free.” It was a huge snowman cookie, the one I’d been eyeing not one second before. It had to be some kind of reward attached to my Starbucks app, but I’m pretending I got cruised just to stroke my own ego. Or maybe I was being cruised, and I’m just an idiot (I usually am about these things). Picking up that I think other women are attractive? Easy. Telling when people are attracted to me? Not so much. Not so much at all.

I need an app on my phone that instead of making matches, just says, “she’s looking at you, jackass.”

I’m in a punchy mood because I made it to Starbucks on time this morning, the coffee is fresh, and the onslaught of humanity has not yet begun. It’s 7:04 as of this writing, and it doesn’t start getting busy around here until 7:30. By then, I’m finishing up and heading to the train. It’s a win-win situation.

Overhead, they’re playing some kind of Bob Marley album that feels like indy coffee shop and not Starbucks. As far as I could tell, no one behind the counter was wearing patchouli. Which reminds me that I need to go to Whole Foods.

This morning I saw an article on Facebook thanking her friends for catching her when she was down, and it hit so close to home that there were tears streaming down my face as I read it. She fell because of alcoholism; I fell because I was too proud to admit my bipolar disorder/PTSD was WAY out of hand until I couldn’t hide it anymore. Letting that much emotional pain ride on that much anxiety without medication to keep the physical effects under control was the wrong. move. entirely. It’s no wonder my entire life blew up- I’d been trying to pretend it was fine since I was a teenager, not knowing why my relationships wouldn’t work out, why everyone looked at me like I had three heads because I just didn’t get it…. well, I don’t think anyone will ever stop doing that, but you get the picture. There are things that actualized adults know that people who are faking it don’t. I am starting to catch up, one day at a time. I feel better than I have in a long time, and wrongs are starting to “write themselves.”

It’s been a hell of a journey, and in some ways, I’m glad I have record of it. In others, I would gladly set fire to the server and watch it all burn. Going backward is enlightening and painful all at the same time, but they are different pieces of me, and thank God I have friends who are willing to put up with the bad parts to get the good. I would like to think that the good parts outweigh the bad ones, but I’ve only recently started to feel that way again, because in some sense, I thought the bad parts were bigger than the good ones because I couldn’t not. Not since I was a kid. As I have said before, meeting Diane at the time that I did in the way that I did made me feel like I was damaged goods, and I’ve carried that burden for far too long. Susan unwittingly said so when she said it was this “big bag of shit I’d been carrying around forever,” not knowing what was in it, and not listening when I tried to tell her. But she was never going to be an objective audience, because if I was Diane’s partner, I wouldn’t believe me, either. But kids just do not have enough malice aforethought to make something like that up, especially with so many details that have stayed the same for years and years, under duress or not.

There’s a homeless man trying to beg for change wandering around, and I wonder if he knows that no one carries cash anymore? I’m betting at least half the people here have paid with their phones. I did, and I’m just barely a yuppie. I have an iPhone 5c, which I believe stands for 5cheap, because the battery life is terrible and I have to keep an $80 Otter Box on it just in case it drops from my bed to the floor. I’ve had it long enough that I think I could upgrade, or just buy a new plan out here if I wanted, but I hardly ever use my phone. I’d rather use my iPad instead. I can even take my phone calls on it as long as it’s hooked to wi-fi.

People ask me all the time as a tech person what kind of phone I would get. Not sure, but Android over iPhone because I use Linux. I don’t really care about the OS of the phone itself, just that the iTunes store encrypts all your music so you can’t get it back off the phone, and there is no version of iTunes for Linux (yet, at least). You can try running an old and busted version using a Windows emulator, but good luck getting the hardware to work in a virtual machine without a lot of gut-wrenching pain. I’d rather have something that works natively with Rhythmbox and Banshee, the two media players I use on Linux the most.

Wow, this entry has skipped around a lot. But that’s just where my brain has gone this morning as I’ve sat watching from what I call “the technology loft,” so named because all the tables that are upstairs have outlets. However, it’s time to get moving now. Maybe I’ll see you at lunch.

love you miss you mean it

Having a coding issue that is taking up more time than I want, because it’s got to be some stupid, small issue that I can’t see because I’ve been staring at the code so long. It looks right, but it’s not. So I’ll keep looking as my eyes glaze into brain melt until I find it. Because I know I will, and then I will treat myself to a Diet Coke, because I earned it.

I’m also downloading a movie to watch on the way home- Little Giants, one of my favorites. I may even stop at Macy’s in Metro Center because if I find this bug, I earned a trip to Macy’s. If I do not find this bug, it is retail therapy.

Whatever happens, I’m stopping at Mickey D’s on the way home for some ice cream. Can’t decide whether I’m going to be a purist or get Oreos in it. If I get the bug out of the way, I deserve Oreos.

I’m usually a purist, though. Mickey D’s ice cream tastes like white. It’s simple and delicious. I go for pure. At Dairy Queen, the blizzard I like the most is bananas only.

Seriously, this bug is driving me nuts. I’ve done a code compare, and fixed the differences, and it’s still wrong. But I WILL NOT GIVE UP. I will make that code my bitch if I have to stay late.

Last night I went to see The Big Short and treated myself to Mod Pizza. It was the best date ever because I don’t like to talk during the movies. No one was around me, and I got the full effect. If you haven’t seen it, it’s hysterical AND depressing. It’s about betting against sub-prime mortgages, the kind where they don’t even check to see if you have any income and hope the loan defaults…. because invariably, it will if you buy too much house on too little income. However, there are some really hysterical parts in it, as well.

When it comes out on Blu-Ray, I’m going to watch it again. Ditto with The Force Awakens, because I had a family sitting next to me when I saw it in the theatre and I missed some of the dialogue. I was really angry. Can’t people see that if you pay $20 for a ticket, you’re bothering all the other people who paid $20 and want to WATCH THE DAMN MOVIE? I get that you want to take your kids, but there’s such a thing as too young for Star Wars. I don’t want to hear “sit down” for two hours.

When I got home, I fell asleep to Finding Carter. Totally fascinated by the series and I got to watch it kid-free and under the covers. This is why I don’t generally go to the movies. I like to watch movies with my pajamas on. And while I have no compunction about going to the theatre in my pajamas, it’s cold out.

My sister got me a Henley, a thermal, and a sweater for Christmas. I wear them all together. When you are as small as I am, it doesn’t take much to get really cold, really fast. I’ve lost a lot of weight over the last couple of years, mostly because I don’t eat if I’m not hungry, and I’m not hungry *a lot.* At work, I generally don’t eat anything because I am lost in code and can’t take a break. Just. Cannot. You’re the only thing that pulls me away, because I wrote a blog entry at Starbucks and forgot to connect my iPad to the wi-fi, so it didn’t publish… and I was out of time to bother with connecting and publishing. Had to get to the train on time.

It was basically about dragging ass all the way to the train because I took a sleeping pill last night that just had me walking through Jell-o this morning… which is why I need to earn that Diet Coke.

I’m still dragging ass, and it’s 1:30. However, my focus is incredible because I am only doing one thing.

Making that code my bitch.

Hey, you celebrate your way, I’ll celebrate mine.

Two things happened that totally jazzed my day. The first is that the envelope arrived at the office containing my driver’s license, so I can go back to work tomorrow. The second is that I got a notification in my Starbucks app that I have now reached Gold Level, which means that I get free refills on coffee and…… wait for it…… ICED TEA. My favorite thing in the whole wide world to drink is their iced black tea with cream. People think it’s weird as I watch them put cream in their iced coffee, but I think it tastes like Thai iced tea, so I do it anyway. So there huh.

If it seems like these things are on the same level of excitement, they are. I have my life back, in its completeness. I can be at Starbucks by 6:00 or 6:30 to await my 7:40 train again, drinking coffee or tea (as much as I want… squee!). I go to Starbucks and write so that I’m fully awake by the time I get to work, because I can’t take my coffee on the train with me. It’s a win-win situation, despite that. I get to think in longhand and then listen to a podcast or play Plants vs. Zombies or read or do any of the things that I would be doing at home, anyway. In fact, Amazon Prime lets me download movies and episodes to my phone so I can watch offline. I haven’t done it yet, because I don’t have much space on my phone, but it’s cool that I could watch TV on the Metro nonetheless.

Right now I’m obsessed with an MTV series on Hulu, though. It’s called Finding Carter, and it’s about a teenager that gets arrested for sneaking into a carousel with her friends, and is waiting for her mom to come and bail her out when the police take her into a special room and tell her that she was abducted when she was three and now her real parents have found her…. so she has this whole new life with all these people that she doesn’t know. It’s absolutely fascinating, and the woman who plays her real mother is someone I couldn’t put my finger on…. but I KNEW I KNEW HER. I hadn’t been paying attention to the credits, and when I saw her name, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

When I was a kid, my favorite soap operas were The Young and the Restless and Guiding Light. The woman that plays the real mom is Cynthia Watros. If you were a Guiding Light fan in the 90’s, I’m betting you just recoiled in horror. Watros played Annie Dutton, one of the most evil characters in the history of soap operas, to the point that Watros told stories on Oprah of fans hitting her with their umbrellas in airports. Seeing Cynthia Watros on TV made my heart flip, because in this role, she’s actually nice. I am hoping and praying that there will be some sort of Annie Dutton joke on Finding Carter, because it would make my day, as if it hasn’t been made already.

I am excited about getting to see my coworkers and celebrate New Year’s with them, and to get my license before Donut Day. We have Donut Day every Wednesday. I try to get there a little early so that I can get one with jelly in the middle. Those go first. There are also bagels, so for lunch I have a bagel with cream cheese. It’s bliss. It’s so much fun to work for a company that really values its employees and tries so hard to keep them happy. Our holiday party was incredible. Prime rib for everyone, and I had key lime pie for dessert.

It’s really put this whole Dana thing in perspective. So I lost her. But I’ve gained so much over the past few months that it’s not enough to stop me from being happy, because happiness is happening without her. As I have said before, releasing the burden of worrying about her is so freeing, because now I know she doesn’t want me to worry about her. She’s got her people and I’ve got mine.

It’s nice to have people. I didn’t want to begin again, and it happened despite my protestation about it. I am on the other side of a nasty divorce when I didn’t want it to be. I have a sneaking suspicion that even though Dana knew she was marrying a writer, she didn’t realize the scope of it…. and that’s okay. Whomever enters my life from here on out will have to accept it, because it’s not something I do. It’s who I am.

I have $1.83 to prove it.

When you think of a 12-year-old boy, your mind does not automatically make the connection that he is a man…. old enough to get married, have children, and create a life for himself outside of his parents. And yet, in that time and place, it was custom. A boy became a man after his bar mitzvah, and even though the Gospel does not record that he had one, I like to call his “Q&A” session The Casual Bar Mitzvah, because indeed, that is how it presents. He wasn’t just a man, he was acting like it. He gave the other rabbis a lot to think about, and they were astounded at his insights.

But to me, this story does not hinge on his theological answers. It hinges on the way he clearly mistreats his parents and how frightening that must have been for them…. and when they finally find him, to be quite honest, he treats them like crap.

I am not a parent, so of course my frame of reference is going to be different than someone who has actually stood in a birthing suite and watched a tiny baby emerge, or someone who has actually been in labor. But the friends I have who are parents say that it is the end of life as you know it. That all of the sudden, it is the end of eight full hours of sleep and your heart being limited to your own body. I have no doubt that Joseph and Mary felt the same way. When you are someone’s child, it does not matter how old you are. Your parents are going to be protective of you no matter what. Passover was such a large festival that I don’t believe for a second that they forgot him- just that Joseph thought he was with Mary and vice versa. So, with their hearts walking outside of their bodies as they realize their child is missing, they rush back toward Jerusalem… and they are far enough away that it is not an easy trip. I imagine their panic growing as they cannot find him, and when they do, I picture frantic anger… the kind where both parents just come unglued with anger and relief.

Some theologians agree that there was nothing wrong with Jesus’ disappearance, that OF COURSE he should have been at the temple. That it was the start of his tempering fire. While that may be true, Jesus’ reaction was to minimize his parents’ frustration by saying, Why were you searching for me? Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?” Oh, well. That makes it all better, then.

For Mary, it was in effect, saying that she was foolish. For Joseph, it was establishing that he was also foolish and in addition, a very clear “you’re not my REAL dad.” It was classic petulant tween, even though he was supposed to be an “adult.” Because he was a child by today’s standards, I can forgive him. But not right away. It takes time to heal from a wound like that. To me, this is expressed in a nice, clean way by Luke saying they did not understand what he was saying to them. Their worry was justified, and Jesus did nothing to comfort them in their distress… also a tweenage thing to do because they are not other-aware. They are not old enough to see how Mary and Joseph needed him to say that he was sorry for worrying them, that he loved them, that he wouldn’t just disappear again without telling them where he was going.

Alternatively, I am sure that they were proud of Jesus for his accomplishments in the temple, because they knew he was going to be a great leader someday… but that someday wasn’t here. The story says that Jesus went home with Mary and Joseph and was obedient to them. It does not say that he took his manhood and ran with it, even though he clearly could’ve. Mary and Joseph are also not recorded as saying to their 12-year-old that if he wanted to act like a man, he should move out and get a job. Forgiveness abounded, even though Jesus had done wrong.

Mary says that she treasured these things in her heart, but I do not believe it began that day, in all of her panic. The Gospel says it does, but what human on earth can be stung like that and not need to have time to get over it? When your heart walks out of your body and your children refuse you, it doesn’t go away easily. It stays with you internally just as much as the scars and stretch marks that show on the outside.

Her feelings must have been complex, because she could see her son taking his place among the great rabbis of his time. And yet, she still had a ways to go in order to get him ready. Tweens do not have the concept of community, that they can lean on their parents for help, because by then, they just want to do everything themselves. In 7th grade, my homeroom teacher had a sign on her wall that said, “hire a teenager while they still know everything.” Would it have been any different for Jesus? Would it have been even harder for Mary and Joseph to stand up to Jesus knowing that not only was he a man in the eyes of his community, he was also born to unite the people Israel? To me, it is the same as parents of average intelligence being born with a genius or a prodigy. They literally know everything, logically, anyway… but how do you get them to know that intelligence is not the only thing they’ll need to survive in the world? There’s enculturation and socialization to be done… and yet, how do you get those kids to accept help with all the things they don’t know versus all the things they do?

As adults, real ones and not 12-year-olds bar and bat mitzvahed, are we really any different? Are we able to accept help for all the things we don’t know, despite all the things we do? In pain, we tend to isolate and pretend that we are FINE, thank you very much…. while inside, there is a raging storm of emotion. There’s personal problems like divorce, poverty, death…. and plenty of situations that aren’t happening to us, but we feel they are. When someone shoots up a school, there is national mourning. When terrorist attacks happen, we wonder if our community could be next. We want to do it by ourselves, and when we don’t reach out, there is no room for grace.

There is no knowing what people will do to respond to your pain, and if you let them, they will. You will receive the gift of people trying to help you, and they receive the gift of having tried. People are not perfect, and sometimes they say the wrong things, which makes us wont to retreat even more. But if you retreat when people say the wrong things, you will lose the gift of hearing people say the right ones. You will not rise above the wrong things people have said, because you’ll realize they’re not saying the wrong things out of malice… they’re just human and don’t know what to do.

This sermon makes me go back to my youth group, who upon hearing that I’d gone through a divorce this year, held me in prayer and hoped for my joy. Because I had kids ranging from 12 to 18, I did not give them any details, but they knew them, anyway. Several of them had gone through their parents divorcing, and so they knew what it felt like without me having to say a word. They hoped I would have joy in the coming year, and I knew within myself that I did, and I didn’t have to look very hard.

I leaned on my community, and they caught me. In hearing about Jesus’ audacity in the temple toward his parents, I realized that I had true power in my hands in terms of leading my kids to be the adults I know they can be. I can help be responsible for their enculturation and socialization. I can teach them to care and to lean on each other when they need help. I have kids just like Jesus, who come to me with gifts beyond their physical ages. My challenge is how to give my kids the wisdom that Mary and Joseph needed to impart to their son, so that not only would he be the Son of Man, he would also have time to be a fallible human, as we all are.

Luke shows us Jesus’ humanness and the way his parents forgave him for it. It is up to us to follow Mary and Joseph’s example of unfailing love, both for our children and for the world around us.

None of us make it alone, but God, how we try.

What would happen if we just let grace and forgiveness happen? What would happen if we began to receive those gifts, and not in a surface-y way? What if we were able to see and reflect on them for the widow’s mites of hope that they are?

Mary and Joseph forgave Jesus for the way he hurt them. It is an example of grace handed down through the years from Mary and Joseph to Luke to us.

What would happen if we took it?

Amen.

It all started when Dana wished my parents a Merry Christmas and not me. I’d known she’d flown in on Christmas Day, and she hadn’t contacted me. I was feeling like a real baby about it, and one of my friends let me vent and said all the right things as we drank beer “together.” She was at her house and I was at mine, but it was communion, nonetheless.

Eventually, I decided to “man up” and contact her, because e-mail goes both directions, and I thought it would be a dick move on my part if I didn’t contact her at all. I told her that if she wanted to see me, I wanted to see her. She never replied. She got Counselor to say that I was not to contact her under any circumstances.

I told Counselor that my first reaction was “WTF? I don’t understand her animosity if she thinks my family are her friends.” They were when we were getting along, but I sent the e-mail from me and from counselor to my family, and they agreed it was a bitch move, and the best revenge was to live well… actually, I was more kind than my friends. One said, “in a few years she’ll try to contact you, and you can ignore her then.” I told her it depended on where I am in my life then, because just because Dana was “mean to me,” that doesn’t mean I have to be mean back. I want peace, and that doesn’t mean starting shit with Dana in the future. I’ve had enough drama to last my whole life, and knowing Dana does not want contact is extraordinarily freeing to me.

I celebrated my freedom, but not too hard. When I drink, I don’t wake up with hangovers. I wake up with heartburn. I drank enough for a Pepcid, but not enough for a Tylenol. 😛

I am moving on with my life. I actually told Dana that it was no thing if she didn’t want to see me, because I have my own stuff to work out and have been doing it for months. My healing was not dependent on her. It is happening despite her. My life is complete the way it is, with church and friends and the determination never to leave DC, not ever. I want to set down roots, real ones, the way I did in Portland.

I will see Pri Diddy in the next couple of weeks, and that means more to me than crying it out with Dana. However, I am sure that she has a lot to be angry about, a lot to process. But she clearly felt, and I picked up on it a lot, that she had it wired that she was the victim in all of this. But that was months ago, and perhaps she doesn’t feel that way anymore. I’ll never know, and I’m good with it.

One of my friends told me that having Counselor do her dirty work for her was weak, and I’m hanging on to that phrase because it’s true. If Dana wanted no contact, she should have said it. I could have taken it, no problem. It’s not my job to control Dana’s reaction. I was just trying to reach out. What she does with it is up to her, and I have my answer.

Of course it’s sad, but it’s also happy. The blessing of not having to worry about her anymore is the best Christmas gift ever. I am free to put down that burden, because it weighed on me greatly. I’d stopped feeling like we should get back together long ago, but I *was* interested in creating some sort of working relationship, kind of a throwback to our early years of just palling around Portland together. But if that is not possible, I have plenty of other friends to lean on in pain and in joy, which comes in the same breath. Several people got me to laugh with their responses, which was the best medicine.

Being funny is something I’m good at, and my friends aren’t bad, either. 😛 I look forward to laughing with them more as time goes by, and I am looking forward to the future I want to create rather than being stuck in the past. I am bigger than this. Dana wants to be a footnote in my history, so be it.

I have plenty of people to look forward to in my future.

Amen.

Dear Nadia,

Before I started writing this letter, I was in a foul mood. Just angry at God and everybody and the horses they rode in on. I was shaking with sadness and grief, your description of cortisol and sin coursing through my body like rapids on the Colorado because I complained to a friend that it was difficult seeing my ex-wife, one where loving each other turned out not to be enough, wishing my parents a merry Christmas and not me. I moved to DC shortly after the break-up because I needed a physical boundary, knowing that her parents live here and that even if our paths could not be parallel, at least they could be perpendicular.

But we are not in a space where that is even possible right now, as much as I might want it. A friend told me that indeed, she was in DC, and I told her that I really didn’t want to know that because then I had to deal with the fact that she is two hours away instead of over a thousand miles. My friend did not mean to hurt me, because she thought that I’d at least know my ex was coming.

I did not.

She apologized for putting a kink in my day, but she didn’t need to. If I really want this perpendicular path, things like this are going to happen from time to time and I have to deal with it the best way I know how… going on a walk and listening to you preach.

As I was walking, sin and cortisol melted into the same “fire in the belly” that you carry, the one that needs a king who wipes out ISIS and Al Queda and Boko Haram and the people that canceled Firefly after 14 episodes (I’m a Browncoat as well). Now it is Christmas Day, and the king we need as we fall on our knees is here.

[Just as an aside, the line about being into Sandi Patti as a kid is the gayest thing you’ve ever heard made me snort soda through my nose… hilarious and…. accurate.]

I walked for over 40 minutes, and listened to several sermons that resonated with me. The two men that preached were both excellent, and I am sorry that I do not know their names…. although when one said that seven years ago, he’d been a woman named Mary, I thought, “maybe that’s Asher!”

However, the sermon I needed to hear was the one on Christ the King Sunday, because today I need a savior so desperately… a savior that will comfort me in my distress and distress me out of my comfort. A savior that will take my cortisol and sin and turn it into a forest fire of belief that healing myself is about giving to others… being able to put my life into perspective that this pain is only temporary. That I will move on, letting go and even if I am not happy about it, time will pass, anyway.

Prevenient grace is God’s gift to me and what I do with it is my gift to God, but that doesn’t mean God isn’t dragging me by the ear, kicking and screaming while the violent wind of that Holy Spirit is trying to talk to me, trying to tell me that through the power of Christ, I am bigger than this grief. I am bigger than this anger. I am bigger than this sadness. I am just, well, more than I am right now if I will just listen. If I will just stop with my own rumination on the past to make room for the future because it will be everything I have dreamed if I let it.

Letting it is where I trip. We all get caught in our worthlessness loops and I am no different. My ex-wife told me two things that got my attention. The first was that I would never amount to anything. The second is that she thought I had the capability to lead millions, and she was kind of jealous. In moments of worthlessness, I think that not amounting to anything is quite accurate. When I get out of that loop that says I am incapable and start to see the future, I see myself in that dream of maybe not leading millions, but at least one that leads to two and two that leads to four and so on and so on.

In my hours of need, I know I already have my one. His name is James, and he was the first to say flat out, I will follow you. It was a sincere moment of falling on my knees because I knew that he was not talking about my personality, but my ability to lead with holy authority instead of my own ego, which constantly needs to be knocked down a peg, so I have that friend, too. She said, I don’t do church or organized religion. I said, I don’t need you for that. I need you so that when I start talking to God, I don’t start to believe I AM one. She called me a judgmental dickhead once. She’s doing her job very, very well… and also stunned me into complete silence by saying simply, I don’t believe in God. But I do believe in you.

These are my people, just like you have yours. But since James was the first to throw down and exclaim his belief, I named my religious organization, St. James and All Sinners, after him. It’s not a church… yet… but will be once I am ordained. There is no building. It exists online…. and yet, I know for sure that people are reading my sermons and taking them in. We will have a building one day, and for me, that staircase is starting to take shape.

[Another aside… I hadn’t heard about HFASS when I named it… it just fit because my people in DC are just like your people in Denver. Also, I lovingly call HFASS “hf-ass.” It is anything but, and yet it makes me laugh every time.]

I just wanted to thank you for helping me, as I was walking along in the wind and the rain, to remember WHO I AM. I am a servant to the baby born today, living and growing with him as he turns from infant to petulant tween into a preacher so great we quote him 2,000 years later.

It hasn’t been 2,000 years since you started preaching, but I certainly love quoting you. You are with me in tears of laughter so great that I can’t even get sound out, as well as tears when I realize that what you’ve said is so important to my own growth and development. I have so much gratitude for the gifts that you’ve given me, just by being you.

I will close by saying that because of you, I know for sure that as a tattooed lesbian with punk rock hair I have a place in ministry. Because my vision is not complete, when I noticed that one of my friends always writes with long ellipses, I took it to heart. I am not just praying with words, but on the spaces in between as well……………………………

Thank you for filling one of them.

Pax,

Leslie

Because Luke is a doctor, I always picture him coming out of the birthing suite with the good news of Christ’s arrival. However, in looking at Biblical history, we know for certain that this was not the case. Mary went into labor among horses and cows, dirty straw that could have been Jesus’ undoing by infection alone. As I have said before, one of the miracles of Jesus’ birth was not that he was born a savior, but that he lived… despite odds that seem insurmountable today. Yet, it was foretold by Isaiah that despite all of the things that could have gone wrong, the baby would eventually reunite Israel and bring peace and justice to the Jews who had waited for so long to see it.

Isaiah writes:

For a child has been born for us,
a son given to us;
authority rests upon his shoulders;
and he is named
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
His authority shall grow continually,
and there shall be endless peace
for the throne of David and his kingdom.
He will establish and uphold it
with justice and with righteousness
from this time onward and forevermore.

I will never read this passage in the entirety of my life without hearing Imogene Herdman in my head saying, “my God! He’ll never get out of first grade if he has to write all that…”

At the same time, I also realize that this is another of Jesus’ baby pictures, ones that clearly paint his picture with words years before he was born… another candidate for the first page in his baby book. Jesus was the answer to many people’s prayers for hundreds of years, and I have to wonder if in all this prophesying, did they know what awful circumstances in which this miracle would occur? I’m betting on “no.” For if there was a Savior to be born, surely it would be one of speculation and intention. Jesus would be either born at home, or at the very least, in someone’s home.

But alas, no.

In other words, shit happens.

If you think I am using profanity just for the shock value, I’m not. It is a clear double-edged sword. Joseph and Mary had to travel and it was non-negotiable, because ignoring a decree from Caesar Augustus would have been……….. unwise. Life got in the way of Mary’s pregnancy, and there was nothing to be done about it. Additionally, we are talking about a baby being born in a stable. The smell must have been intolerable, and thinking that there wasn’t cow and horse manure all over the place takes away from the horror of the situation, but doesn’t make it any less true. When talking about humble beginnings, I’m not sure it gets any worse than this.

However, in darkness, there is always light if you look for it. Angels appeared to shepherds watching their flock, and at first, they were afraid. The angels quieted their fears, and they become some of the first people to know that the Christ-child has arrived, and among the first to spread the news. The angels did not choose to appear in the middle of the Sanhedrin shouting “I TOLD YOU SO.” They appeared to the poor and lowly, who took the angels’ words to heart:

…they made known what had been told them about this child; and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them.

Shepherds were among the least-paid and least-respected people in their society, and at the same time, when they talked about the angels and the baby, people believed them. It is another miracle in the birth of the Christ-child, that people so poor all of the sudden became the people owning the room, captivating audiences with their stories of seeing angels walk among them, and making haste toward the manger to see the baby for themselves. They are Jews who would have read Jesus’ baby pictures for themselves, and I have no doubt that when they arrived at the manger, it was a moment of true awe and an absolutely overflowing river of emotion. I can imagine all the “it’s him! It’s really him! I never thought I would see this moment, and now it’s here!” The quote that runs through me when I see this picture in my mind’s eye also comes from Isaiah:

The people who walked in darkness
have seen a great light;
those who lived in a land of deep darkness–
on them light has shined.

It is as if Isaiah also predicted this moment of shepherds walking in the dark, literally, watching over their sheep… and then a “multitude of heavenly hosts” shows up, bringing an incredible amount of light with them.

Notice, and really take it in, that the light was not given to people who already had enough through their ability to be financially solvent… the light was given to people who needed it the most.

My questions to you this Christmas Eve are whether someone has brought you light when you needed it the most… and whether you have brought light to someone else. Just as Jesus was sent into the world as a tiny baby, our light does not begin with a roaring campfire, but a tiny spark. In later years, Jesus would preach about only having faith the size of a mustard seed, and nowhere is there a better analogy for the way he arrived. He did not suddenly become an all-powerful professional Christian superhero. He was tempered and refined in his faith, learning to speak with holy authority over time and making mistakes in the process. He was sent to earth to be a human, and despite all of the Christian theology that will tell you he was perfect, my take is “not so much.” We are called to love Jesus for everything that he was, including the only record we have of his childhood.

We’ll talk more about it on Sunday, because the Lectionary covers Jesus’ disappearance at 12 into the temple. In that pericope, I believe Jesus’ humanness showed in the way he treated his parents. He would have known The Ten Commandments, and “honor thy father and mother” is right up there. When Mary and Joseph finally (FINALLY) find Jesus, he says two things that make me know he was a tween complete with implied eyeroll.

The first is that when he was found, he scoffed by saying (and I’m paraphrasing here) “why wouldn’t you know I was in my Father’s house?” To me, it comes across as petulant, along with the clearly stated “you’re not my real dad” for Joseph. I cannot even imagine how Jesus’ parents felt in that moment, but for me I can’t read those scriptures without wanting to wash Jesus’ mouth out with soap.

Light did not come for Jesus as a fully-formed set of stadium bulbs. Light came to Jesus the same way it does for us… sparks that magnify exponentially until hopefully, we are able to spread the same amount of peace that he did.

Advent is not necessarily a penitential season, but it does move toward the solstice, the time when physical light returns to earth in longer and longer amounts, multiplying exponentially as well. It doesn’t always speak to the forgiveness of sins, but it does speak of turning inward, and learning how we can turn our darkness into sparks that multiply within ourselves. It is taking the darkness that lives within us and really looking at it, holding it out where we can see it in all its ugliness and letting go to make room for the tiny baby that lives within us. We start with the baby every year, but where are we going to finish?

The Rev. Dr. Susan Leo says that Christmas Eve is the one night where the membrane between heaven and earth becomes so thin that we can reach up and touch it. What kind of peace would we receive if we actually took the time to do it? What would happen if we, as the people called to be Christ in the world, took the time to reflect on this enormous gift?

What kind of gifts would it inspire you to give? None of them cost a thing, because remember… the people who were given the light of Christ first didn’t have two mites to rub together in the first place. The gifts given to them by the angels were sparks of belief that they, in turn, gave to others.

On this night, the night of all nights, make room for the baby. There is no better way to see hope than through the eyes of a child.

Amen.

Yesterday, I finally made the commitment to watch Return of the Jedi. I watched it at my computer with my headphones on Defcon OH MY FUCK to ensure that I wouldn’t fall asleep, and I’m glad I did. When you watch any Star Wars movie with headphones on, you get to hear more of John Williams’ magic than you would otherwise. The score was just magnificent. I think I’m going to rewatch all of the Star Wars movies with my headphones on for that reason alone. There are nuances to the music that just cannot be picked up if you’re sitting several feet away from the speakers.

That being said, I didn’t NOT like the movie, but it wasn’t my favorite. It might as well have been called Episode VI: The Muppets Strike Back. I did like the few human moments with Darth Vader, but on the whole, it was like, “oh look! There’s the Judoons from Doctor Who! Plus, I know that one of every nerdboy’s fantasies in the world is Princess Leia in that gold bikini, but seeing her on a chain with Jabba jerking her neck back was so violent and rape-y that I nearly fast-forwarded through those parts. The Ewoks weren’t any less annoying, but there were a couple of parts that stood out. The first was when the Ewok got all the Stormtroopers to chase him so that there was only one guard left in front of whatever place it was they were trying to sneak into. I don’t know names. I only know that it’s where the controls for the defense shield were being held. I also loved the part where the Ewoks and Chewie stole the big walker thingme. The Stormtroopers never knew what hit them.

And how did people not know that the Sith Lord was Palpatine? Seriously. You could totally tell it was Ian McDiarmid (or someone who looked just like him) under that black robe. Too lazy to look it up. Plus, the voice. Seriously?

It’s going to be interesting in The Force Awakens to learn who the new masters of The Dark Side are. My mom read on my blog about being on the fence about spending the money to see it, and sent me a Regal gift card in the mail. My mother is ON IT, people. ON. IT. Maybe I’ll go tomorrow, because I don’t have to be back home for Christmas dinner until 5:00. It would be fun to open presents and then go see a really great movie. I don’t care if it’s the crappiest Star Wars movie ever made. Seeing Star Wars on Christmas is going to be awesome, no matter what I think of the movie itself. It’s not supposed to be great cinema, anyway. It is gorge yourself with popcorn and strap in for the ride. Besides, I love JJ Abrams. I was not a fan of Star Trek, but I went with Dana to see the movie, anyway, and I LOVED IT…. mostly because John Cho was in it. I kept waiting for someone to slip and call him “Roldy.”

Star Wars is a guilty pleasure for me. I am not a drooling fangirl for it the way I am for The Doctor. However, it is one of my favorite series, and I’ve watched all the movies (even the bad ones). In fact, I could have skipped Episode I entirely and not missed a thing. However, I do believe that Jar-Jar Binks is a Sith Lord, more powerful than even Palpatine. There’s lots of videos proving it, and I can’t link to them all, but it’s true. Jar-Jar uses the force just as well as the Jedi, and he’s always right behind Palpatine, as if he is the puppet master. And why wouldn’t a “muppet” character be the ultimate Sith Lord when Yoda was the ultimate Jedi Master?

I also thought it was interesting, given how close twins are, that Luke never mentions to Leia that they’re twins. And the prequels fucked it up in canon if Leia says she remembers images of her mother. That was just ridiculous. Amidala dies in childbirth, doesn’t she? Maybe force-babies can remember their birth or something. Because that is totally a George Lucas way of explaining things.

I am sure there are a lot more plot holes than just that one, but it seems to be a rather large one. Oh, well. Suspension of disbelief is Star Wars’ stock and trade.

But I just wanted everyone to know that I will no longer be surprised when someone mentions Return of the Jedi It’s about time I re-watched it. Perhaps I just wanted to keep that father/daughter date sacred. For whatever reason, I’m glad I watched it. Seeing Darth Vader actually have feelings for once was awesome.

I’m not sure I’ve told this about myself, but when Dana and I went to see Episode III, during the part where the helmet is being lowered onto Anakin’s head, I clasped my hands together and started whispering “please be James Earl Jones…. Please be James Earl Jones…. Please be James Earl Jones….” and then Dana had to physically restrain me from jumping out of my seat and cheering.

So now I’m ready for The Force Awakens. FINALLY.

The envelope with my driver’s license hasn’t arrived at my office yet, so basically I am sitting here bored out of my skull until it does. It’s been amazing how quickly I’ve gone from enjoying so much time alone to rebelling against it, especially with coworkers I dig so damn much. The company is small, and most of the employees are related to each other in one way or another- some are in the CEO’s family, some are friends from church, etc. It reminds me very much of working for “the family business” back in the day as the doctor’s medical assistant. It’s just that this time, I’m working for someone else’s family, and hopefully I will become just as beloved as the other medical assistant I worked with, Vikki. She isn’t related to me, but might as well be. At the time we were working together, we both had Jeep Grand Cherokees, and every night when we finished our paperwork, I’d say, “Vikki, are we Jeepin,’ cause that’s how we roll?

I ended up selling my Jeep when gas went over $4.00/gallon in Portland, but I miss it SO DAMN MUCH. My favorite thing is that it was older, a 2001, so I could afford to have the one loaded out with every possible accessory that could have come on that thing. It even had driver presets, one for Dana and one for me… because as you’ll remember, I do not like to drive. Before we were even dating, the second driver preset was hers and hers alone. 🙂 Before I had my Jeep, I had a little Ford Focus that we drove everywhere. Her driving settings are much different than mine, and since it was less than a mile from my apartment to hers when we first started hanging out in earnest, I learned to drive with her settings for the five-ten minutes it took to get to her house, then sit in the passenger seat until she came down the stairs. It made Dana laugh every single time.

Which leads me back to the story of “Mr. Pops-a-Lock.”

Dana did not see a mattress frame that was carelessly thrown into her parking space at her complex, and she ran over it, popping one of my tires. Since I had roadside assistance, I called them to change the tire so we could go get a new one. The company itself was called “Mr. Pops-a-Lock,” but that became the boy who arrived’s nickname for all time and space.

Dana and Amy are waiting upstairs as I deal with the tire, and no lie, he was one of the cutest guys I’d seen in like, forever. Keep in mind that I am now *dying* laughing as I type this. I cannot get enough air into my lungs. I may pass out.

At the time, I was ridiculously single, so I didn’t think there was anything wrong with crushing out on a boy I’d never see again unless I asked him for his phone number. I was going to, and then he started talking. He had a lateral emission lisp, and I learned this when I asked him if I was ready to go with the whole tire situation and he said, “yesth, ma’am.” It was the cutest thing known to God and man, but then I thought about bringing him to parties and how I knew that every friend I had would pick up that lisp behind his back. It was so shallow, and so true.

So I go back upstairs and tell Dana & Amy this story, and of course when I got to the part about taking him to parties, they’re on the floor imitating him as well (see?).

It must have been a day or two later and I’d forgotten all about “Mr. Pops-a-Lock” when Dana and I started a game of what we call “Drunken Trivial Pursuit.” Basically, you start with straight whiskey or tequila so that the answers get harder as the night goes on because you can’t fucking remember them.

It comes down to the winning question, which was “what medal did Nancy Kerrigan win in the 1994 Winter Olympics?” Dana gave me a grin so evil that I knew something was coming, but wasn’t sure what…………..

She looked at me and said, “the thsilver.”

By then several shots of whiskey had been consumed, and what would have been a little funny sober left us gasping for air. Tears and snot were running down my face and I was laughing so hard I couldn’t even get any sound out.

Game. Over.

In more ways than one.

Four or five people now have asked me if I’m going home for Christmas. The answer is no. First of all, I don’t have time. Second of all, I haven’t gotten my first paycheck and I don’t own a credit card that has frequent flier miles. Last, but not least, I don’t want to. Yes, being with my parents on Christmas Day would be wonderful and amazing and all of those things, but flying back into IAH or HOU at this time would make me more emotionally crispy than I really want to handle right now. Not only that, my mom, dad, and sister have all visited me since April (and my dad visited a second time about a month and a half ago). It is a special holiday and I get it, but because of our work schedules, I’ve almost seen my family more since I left Houston than in the two years I lived there. It’s one of the perks of living in a place where people want to visit. Portland was not an easy trip for anyone. It’s so remote and the time change was so great that I hardly ever saw my family relative to the amount that I see them now.

Plus, there’s a lot about going to Houston in and of itself that just brings up bad memories and I don’t want to go there, physically or mentally. I have said before that the pendulum has swung too far in terms of wanting to be around other people, and though I don’t feel that way about my family, I certainly feel that way about Dana. She was my family, too, my primary one, and not even getting a “hello” in months has made me actively fearful of ever running into her again. It’s a strange dichotomy, this feeling in the pit of my stomach that she is the love of my life and I will never meet anyone like her and at the same time, so fearful of even a tiny interaction. I think that’s because I’m bad at small talk. I do not want to hide behind pleasantries while pieces of my heart turn from red to grey to black, color draining from my face as I realize we do not know each other anymore, and the same jokes do not land.

It reminds me of when I was 18, and Meagan used to come home from University of New Brunswick on Christmas break. We’d small talk, and then we’d flirt, and then a flirt would hit too close to home and I would just go dead inside with shock and grief. It was always those moments of “why don’t you want me anymore?” instead of the better question, which was “why do I want you?” She screwed me to the wall emotionally and still, I wondered why SHE didn’t want ME. It took getting a LOT of distance from that situation to even be able to ask myself that question, and by A LOT, I mean ten years. I’m not saying that it took ten years for me to stop having romantic feelings for her, but it did take ten years before I was able to put the relationship in perspective and take back the power I’d lost in always wondering what it was about me that she didn’t like, when there was PLENTY I didn’t like about her.

At least with this breakup, I’ve been able to ask myself that question from the beginning. Do I want to be with someone who thinks I will never amount to anything? Do I want to be with someone who, with our past history, will treat every friend I meet as a potential threat to our relationship? Do I really want to be with someone who has consistently embarrassed me and treated me like my opinions don’t matter? Do I really want to be married to someone who doesn’t get mad in the moment and saves up all her emotional bombs until something small drops the Mento into the Diet Coke and I have to run for cover?

Do I even want a partner at all?

My track record with such things is not great, probably because I haven’t done the work on myself that needed to be done before getting into a relationship in the first place. I met Meagan when I was 17, just about to turn 18. There were three years in between Meagan and Kathleen, but in those three years, I didn’t really grow as a person. I was still that arrested 14-year-old trying to fake it as an adult, pining for both Meagan and Diane as if living in the past was the right answer…. just pretending they were there when they weren’t. I didn’t have the idea then to write things down so that I could let them go….. or as the old joke goes, “how do you release anger?” “You’re supposed to release it?”

Going back to Houston is not only reliving memories with Dana, but Diane, Meagan, Kathleen, Katharin, and Angela as well. Saying that many names makes me feel like a total whore until I remember that you’re not supposed to marry everyone you date. 😉 What does make me feel like a total ho is having two legal relationships in two different states that still haven’t been resolved. It will be a lot easier now that gay marriage is national. The reason that Kathleen and I did not dissolve our civil union in Vermont is that we didn’t know when we married that if you wanted to get a divorce, you had to establish residency for six months before you could file, and neither of us wanted to do it. Had we known the residency requirement at the time, I’m not sure it would have made a difference. We were young, stupid, and needed joint health insurance all at the same time (which is a whole ‘nother story because we learned through The Washington Blade that a spokesman for ExxonMobil told the paper that XOM was going to start recognizing gay marriages from other states. The problem was that I’m not sure the rest of the company knew he’d said it. They had to make a whole new policy just for us. Beat that with a stick.) Because we have not spoken in over ten years, I can safely claim abandonment as reason for divorce and hopefully it will happen as quick and dirty as the wedding ceremony, one of the most hysterical farces of my entire life.

It seems cheap to say that we were only married for 11 months, because the truth is that I married her in an instant. Kathleen’s jealous ex left some information on my answering machine that was DEEPLY personal as a way to get back at Kat for leaving her, and it opened my mirror neurons immediately. There was no way I’d leave Kathleen’s side for anything in the world…. it was as if her flaws made her more beautiful rather than less. For the most part, our three and a half years together were ultimately positive, but our divorce was traumatic. The only truly sweet thing I remember happening during that time was that we had this duvet made from an old U-haul blanket with 600-thread-count sheets wrapped around it and it was my favorite possession in the whole world, even though it had originally been hers. I told her all the time as a joke that if we ever divorced, that was the one thing I wanted. When she cleared her stuff out of 803 N. Van Dorn, my dad and I came up to our media room to start getting out my stuff, and there was the blanket, wrapped up on a chair. It was as if the blanket represented an “I’m sorry,” and even though we haven’t spoken since, I will always remember that even in the midst of our pain, she remembered our inside joke. My kindness to her in return was that her dad used to call her a monkey because she could pick things up with her toes, so I went to the Discovery Store and bought her a huge orangutan that she could use as a pillow, and the feet had velcro on them. I wanted to go out on a sweet note, too.

With Dana, it was a completely different story. Marrying her felt like the most natural thing I’d ever done in my life, because I wasn’t marrying someone I’d been dating for a while. I was marrying someone who had been my bestbestbest friend in the whole world for three and a half years, so there was no way she didn’t know what contract she was signing, and vice versa. The conversation over how to dissolve our domestic partnership in Oregon is not a conversation I thought I’d be having this year, much less this lifetime. I didn’t know how to respond to the words, “I just can’t handle you,” as if my life was a basketcase and hers was any easier in terms of being her partner. I did and still do have some choice retorts for that one, but I don’t focus on them. I focus on the time I fell in love with her sweatshirt with the Canadian maple leaf on it, and when I moved to Houston, in (I think) 2005, Dana drove with me and flew back. She waited until we were unpacked to show me that her sweatshirt was in one of the boxes and I just fucking lost it. It was one of the moments I should have told Dana not to fly back, because when her plane took off, I realized that my entire world went with it. I wasn’t homesick for Portland. I was homesick for her and the “Boston marriage”” we created. At that point, romance hadn’t entered the picture. I felt twinges every once in a while, but they were always manageable knowing that she was married and I was busy with work and trying to find a girlfriend of my own. And if I’m honest, part of the reason I am so mad at Dana over the Argo situation is that she went through the EXACT SAME SHIT with me.

She told me after six weeks of being friends that she had a crush on me, and she was still married and it was her shit to own, because I wasn’t going to be the reason she ended her marriage. I wasn’t even attracted to her, not even a little bit. She never even drew that parallel in our lives, and it is one that should have been at the forefront, considering that my attraction to Argo was mine to own, especially because it was something that the relationship wouldn’t and couldn’t ever sustain. I got over it. Back in the day, I wanted Dana to just get over it, too…… and then….. What changed my mind over time in terms of attraction was that Dana became the face and the mind I loved, to the exception of no one else…. until Argo entered the picture and I struggled with the same issue Dana did…. the difference being that the crush on Argo was because it wouldn’t go anywhere, and I felt safe in the knowing of it. As I have said before, if Argo had told me she was bi or lesbian, I would have run from her like a house on fire, because I could not have sustained a friendship with a woman that excited me that much and stay married to someone else. I wanted Dana to stay my first priority, and I would have disposed of that relationship quickly and easily, instead of over time, starting to torture myself because I knew it was my shit to own and I did not get it handled as quickly as I would have liked.

I now love Argo for everything she is, but that doesn’t include romance. That includes a lifetime of loyalty toward someone I believe deserves it, whether she wants it or not. If she doesn’t, I will just be the angel that sits on her shoulder in times of remembrance. If she does, I am only an e-mail away…. and that’s that.

I also take it as an incredible compliment that Dana thought I was so amazing that eventually Argo would see it and fall in love with me. It wasn’t reality, but at the same time, I was the one trapped in the vicious cycle of wondering how anyone like that could love someone like me, and Dana was sure of it. I know it must have hurt deep into her soul, but the fact that she said it changed me. It made me feel like I had something more to offer the world than my current output, because she saw the way that Argo was overclocking my processor and that I was learning to think about bigger things than I’d ever thought about before and knowing within herself that I could hang (or believed it, anyway…. me, not so much). With Argo, I’d never win a toaster. That was clear from the beginning…. but I could win an amazing friendship if I was willing to let go of the parts of myself that made me think friendship and sex were the same thing, again, a mark that Argo clearly says Diane left on me. It is a mark that deserved an eraser long ago, and now that I know it, I’m doing something about it.

I don’t want to be that kind of friend to anyone.

Just for the record.

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, just grumpy as all hell that my driver’s license hasn’t arrived and I can’t accrue any more hours at work until it does. So I’m sitting in the Silver Spring Metro Starbucks like I do every morning, NOT waiting for my train with all the other unemployed people who think Starbucks is actually a Kinko’s. There’s nothing wrong with it… did it for months, but I miss my office mate and the free coffee and camaraderie that comes with going to work. As Lou Anne, the office manager said, “you know, it’s not that bad a time to be off.” She’s right, but after spending so many self-induced months of isolation, I’m ready for more than that. My wallet couldn’t have gotten stolen at a more inopportune moment. The good news is that it is guaranteed by tomorrow, so “after all, tomorrah is another day.” Even when the government is saying, “frankly, my dear… I don’t give a damn.” Gone with the Wind quotes? Is that what we’re doing now?

My funniest story about Gone with the Wind is something that happened to someone else, but still so funny I have to tell it. My friend Gary’s dad, GB, took his now- wife, Marilyn, to see Gone with the Wind as their first date. GB got so bored in the movie that when they went to the popcorn stand at intermission, he told her that the movie was over and they went home. On the day I was told this story, Marilyn *still* hadn’t seen the end. That was in 1995.

Speaking of which, I am on the fence about spending $20.87 for a ticket to The Force Awakens. I want to see it in IMAX, because I saw the trailer in IMAX when my dad took me to see Spectre. However, I cannot find IMAX without 3D, and 3D gives me a headache because I have monocular vision and can’t see it, anyway. Everything just looks red and blue without angle of convergence. I may have to go to the theater without looking on Fandango to see if I missed something. Maybe there IS IMAX without 3D, because obviously we found it for Spectre…. and it may be cheaper.

The reason that a ticket to the new Star Wars movie couples with Marilyn’s lack of seeing the end to Gone with the Wind is that it reminded me I’ve never seen the end of Return of the Jedi. I mean, I saw it in May of 1983 in the theater with my dad… our last father/daughter date before my baby sister was born in June. However, I was 5 and a half then. I don’t remember it. What has happened in every viewing since is that I’ve made it to the Ewoks and fallen asleep every time. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. Meaning that I have never seen the epic scenes at the end.

In short, fuck Dana.

I mean that in the most LOVING WAY POSSIBLE, but still. We’re hiking up to Angels’ Rest in he Columbia River Gorge, talking about Star Wars as we walk because that’s how nerds hike. Master Yoda is my favorite character in the entire series, and the part in Empire Strikes Back where he’s scrounging through Luke’s lunch box makes me laugh every time. So, we’re walking along and Dana says, “remember that scene where Yoda dies?” My face is absolutely horror-stricken and I yell, “YODA DIES?!?!?!?” and I kid you not, I fell ass over teakettle into a rock with the shock. I just lost it. I had to sit down for a minute to recover from the shock. Of course, Dana is laughing both because she just cannot believe how shocked I am and wishing she could have taken a video…. plus, I am sure in her head she’s thinking, “too soon?” I mean, the movie had come out almost 30 years ago by that point.

I have all the Star Wars movies so far on my 3TB hard drive, so perhaps it will get me in the mood to decide whether I want to spend the money for a Force Awakens ticket.

So here’s how the conversation with Dana ended up:

• At the end of Little Women, BETH DIES.
• In The Sixth Sense, he was dead the whole movie.
• In The Crying Game, it was a MAN.
• At the end of Titanic, ALMOST EVERYONE DROWNS.
• Ken Jennings LOST LAST NIGHT.
• etc., etc., etc.

I was funny angry, and we were both laughing as we were hiking. When we got to the top, I wanted a shot of the entire gorge. In order to get the shot, Dana held onto my feet so I wouldn’t slide down a cliff. We made an agreement that if we had an accident, it was Dana’s responsibility to call my dad and say with authority, “Leslie was being a dumbass, and got herself killed.” And that reminds me of the day I GOT THE SHOT.

Dana and I were visiting Stepanie, her sister (whom I will call “Counselor” for the rest of her natural life), and taking a break from spending time with the whole famn damily. We were driving around just lost in conversation when I saw this huge sunflower field and told Dana to pull over. In order to get the shot, I had to climb down into that muddy gulch. It was so wet that it didn’t take three seconds before I was up to my shins in mud, and I COULD NOT GET BACK OUT. I was so stuck I couldn’t move. Finally, I tried taking my shoes off and climbing out that way. Dana was mystified as to why I was walking back to the car in my socks, and when I opened the door to the Jeep, the first thing I said was, “the most important thing is that I got the shot. The second thing is that the next farmer to work that field is going to find a pair of pink and white Nikes.”

It feels right that I am ending this entry sitting in a Starbucks as Thomas Lauderdale plays “Hang On, Little Tomato.”

Micah 5:2-5a

But you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah,
who are one of the little clans of Judah,
from you shall come forth for me
one who is to rule in Israel,
whose origin is from of old,
from ancient days.
Therefore he shall give them up until the time
when she who is in labor has brought forth;
then the rest of his kindred shall return
to the people of Israel.
And he shall stand and feed his flock in the strength of the LORD,
in the majesty of the name of the LORD his God.
And they shall live secure, for now he shall be great
to the ends of the earth;
and he shall be the one of peace.

How could he know? How could he be so specific in his prophecy? How could he paint this picture of Jesus, so accurate that it should be one of the first pages in Jesus’ baby book? This was written hundreds of years before Jesus was, as my dad would say, “even a twinkle.” Micah prophesied from 737–696 BC, and yet he saw the fully painted picture of a Davidic restoration for the Jews…. a baby born in Bethlehem, when “she who is in labor has brought forth.” How could Micah know that the restoration of Israel would not happen with the sky opening up and a pronouncement from God, but a tiny baby just as human as you and me?

Micah’s prophecy was so accurate that it was handed down through the ages via Matthew 2:6:

But you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
Are not the least among the rulers of Judah;
For out of you shall come a Ruler
Who will shepherd My people Israel.

Micah was waiting for the baby, just as we do every Advent. He was waiting for new life, new hope, and the restoration of what Israel had been instead of what it had become. The political circumstances in which he lived were no less precarious than ours. He railed against the beautification of Jerusalem because it was done through dishonest business practices that absolutely devastated the poor financially. He spoke honestly and plainly regarding the marketplace Jesus would later tear apart, saying that merchants and tax collectors were cheating the people they were supposed to serve. He even turned against his own people, oracles like him who, instead of giving away their counsel for free, took money for them… ironically cheapening their own gifts… because for Micah, the restoration of Israel would be the restoration of honest government, one that would not collapse under the weight of its own sins.

He did not use the image of an all-powerful ruler, but a simple shepherd feeding his flocks. It is a paradigm shift in terms of what we think of as a Savior. He would not be born to have power over, but power with. Micah knew that it would take more than one set of hands to make a government interested in keeping peace, but it needed a leader dedicated to moving others in that direction… not by force, but by example.

There is no better example of faith in a great leader than the mother who bore him. When the angel Gabriel came to her and said that she would bear a child that would do great things, she believed in her baby with all her heart. In the Gospel reading for today, we learn just how much:

My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,

for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.
Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;

for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
and holy is his name.

His mercy is for those who fear him
from generation to generation.

He has shown strength with his arm;
he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.

He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
and lifted up the lowly;

he has filled the hungry with good things,
and sent the rich away empty.

He has helped his servant Israel,
in remembrance of his mercy,

according to the promise he made to our ancestors,
to Abraham and to his descendants forever.

Mary not only believed in her angel, she believed the baby pictures she read, given to her by the prophets of Israel that had been born long before her. She believed in her son’s ability to unite Israel and restore it to its former greatness, because like all the other Jews of her time, she would have read these prophecies and had no idea Micah was talking about her…. right up until Gabriel walked into her house.

She believed in her little shepherd, the one that would unite Israel not by his power, but by his kindness. It does not seem kind to overthrow rulers, but the Jews had been wrested from their homeland and treated poorly long enough. She believed in his power to stand up in the power of the people who gave him the authority to speak for them.

She believed in her baby, just like you believe in yours. Not only that, other people prophecy that your children will go on to do great things, just like Micah did for Jesus. Micah’s prophecies and Mary’s Magnificat are the hopes and dreams they have for this tiny baby boy.

How do we sing our songs of hope for our own next generations? Elizabeth (mother of John the Baptist) praised Mary by saying, “blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by God.”

What can we accomplish by raising our children with hope and expectation for their greatness? What wrongs will they be able to right knowing that their parents and their friends hold them in such high esteem? How will we sing our own songs of praise to our babies so that they grow up safe and secure in community love and care? How can we influence them with the light of Christ that flows through us?

A baby book records firsts. While we’re looking at first steps and first words, why not first great ideas? First challenges handled? First moments of gratitude and peace-making and integrating into the community around them? What would happen if we wrote down all the moments in which we saw the light of Christ in our children?

It is a passing down through the ages, from Micah to Mary to Matthew to us. If we, as Christians, are called to be Christ in the world, how do we know when we see it? And if we do, is it a cherished moment in the lives of our children? Is it something that will be remembered later on?

It will be if we write it down.

Amen.

I had a God moment at rehearsal today. The choir and full orchestra were there, including an INCREDIBLE brass section. When the opening strains of “O Come, All Ye Faithful” began in all it’s brass-filled glory, I could not even. Tears slipped down my face as I was thinking just how lucky I’d been to find CCC, and how effortless it was. Karen put her arm around me and I was so grateful that I’d really made a friend… several, in fact. It isn’t always the music that rescues me, but the people who see how hard I’m struggling and respond to it. Christmas is always a hard time for me when I’m away from Diane and Susan. I don’t want to say that’s true, but it is. My saving grace is that none of the music we’re doing is something I’ve performed with Diane as a conductor or as a young woman, her elbow on my shoulder at rehearsal so she could lean her face onto her hand. In time, those beautiful tapestry moments have come back, and even though I have no interest in protecting her future, I have every interest in protecting the parts of her past that made me who I am. I grew so much with her as a musician, and I won’t forget that fact. The God moments come when I realize that there is nothing on earth that will take those moments away from me, and she’s with me always as the angel on my shoulder who reminds me to keep singing…. to keep working toward the musician I want to be, rather than hiding in the pews.

I truly felt lost without being a church musician, especially going on without her, because I’ve been a church musician since I was three in one capacity or another. I made it a grand total of three weeks in the pews before I realized that my place wasn’t there. My place was with the other sopranos. Despite my line about wanting to sit in comfortable chairs instead of the pews, it wasn’t just that. My mother says that when she goes to church and sits in the pews, she is lost because she knows her place is at the piano. I felt the same way. I don’t attend church so much as I enjoy making it happen. When I’m preaching, I don’t generally sit with the choir, because I need to focus on what I’m going to say and pray that prayer Rev. Matt Neely taught me when I was a teenager…. “God, let the words of my mouth reach these people today, and if they can’t, push me out of the way and speak it in spite of me.” Sitting in the choir is every Sunday but those. We are doing some incredible music, and a lot of it I’ve never heard before. I’ll create a playlist on Spotify for those who want to “come to church” with me tomorrow as soon as I finish writing out all the feelings that are swirling within me.

At first, my voice was weak because I did not show up early to warm up. As I had some water, tea, and Tic-Tacs (anything to create saliva), I started to relax, and by the end of rehearsal I was on top of the world. Singing with brass does it to me every time. I wish I could bottle that top-of-the-world feeling, because I was utterly unprepared for what happened next.

Nae stood up and announced that he was retiring in July.

It caught me off-guard because I realized it would be yet another change, and then I got excited because I realized that there would be a national search for a choir director, and I had one specific name in mind. I’m not ready to let go of what that name might be, but I will tell you it’s not Diane. It’s the first boy I met when I joined a choir in PDX and was absolutely smitten with his ability as a conductor. I don’t know if he’d move to DC, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with asking him if he wants to submit a resume. 🙂 I knew we were kindred spirits when we pulled up to a stop light at the same time, both jamming to NPR.

I am so glad that Nae let us know this early so we have time to prepare for this enormous loss. He really is one of the best clinicians I’ve ever worked with, and as I told him today, I felt so blessed that I got to CCC while he was still there. I also asked him if he was keeping his private studio open, so stay tuned. It was literally going out on a high note to have that amazing a rehearsal, and I look forward to celebrating the joy that is Nae, rather than the sadness of his leaving.

I can’t be selfish about all this. Just because it’s a change for me doesn’t mean that it won’t be the best thing for him, and I think it will. He’s already had a 40-year career despite being relatively young, because his first job as choirmaster and accompanist was when he was fifteen. He talked about his parents having to drive him because he got his first job before he got his driver’s license. It was a sweet moment of the Spirit gathering us in close, because even though Nae’s retirement isn’t going to happen fast, the initial shock to all of us made us gather in tightly.

We need it. We need each other. We need time to save up for a gold watch.

Amen.

Spotify didn’t have everything I was looking for, so here is a YouTube playlist. My personal favorite is the setting of Silent Night by Peter Anglea.

Dana: I want some ice cream.

Leslie: We can go to Valero.

Dana: We’ll probably get better prices at Foodarama.

Leslie: I kind of want to go to HEB so I can get some fruit sodas… you know, a purple cow, a pineapple cow…

Dana: What would a pineapple cow be called?

Leslie: A “moo-au.”

Dana: Go post that on Facebook right now.

The struggle is real. These tennis match conversations that come up in my Facebook memories make my actions toward Dana look even more miserable than they were, because I wrecked a good relationship at my own hand. Two, if you count Argo, although we have made our peace somewhat and are happy to live in the same city separately. I told her I wouldn’t treat her any differently if I lived in DC than I would if I lived in Houston, because meeting in person at this point is super intimidating, I think for both of us. Holding each other at arm’s length is right where we need to be. It is saying to each other that shit went down, and neither of us can trust the other as far as we can throw each other, and if you get to that place, you can rebuild from the ground up…. or you can’t.

Time wounds all heals. When you break each other down and walk away, you are allowing both parties the lack of seeing what happens. You are cutting off grace. You are cutting off that Holy Spirit moment when a small thing creates a smile, like a sprout in a bean cup at Sunday School. I would do anything to make Argo smile, given the the ways I’ve made her cry without being there to see her frustration and respond to it with care.

The sprout in a bean cup idea sticks in my mind as something I wish would happen with Dana as well. Perhaps she just needs time, or is so angry that I will never hear from her again. It can’t matter to me. Her response is her response. All I can do is think of the funny things that have happened over the years and remember them instead of the heartbreaking fights that tore us apart. I have moved on with my life enough to see that I am worth so much more than I allowed myself to be when I was with her. I did not allow myself to take up so much room. I have a huge personality in a tiny body, which makes me go back to the night at Chuy’s that I met a friend of Dana’s whose first words to me upon seeing me for the first time were, “I thought you’d be taller.” I guess that’s what happens when you’re loud on the Internet.

Too loud.

I got in trouble (and I totally fucking deserved it) for being loud on the Internet, and we never talked again. It was extremely painful, because I didn’t mean any harm. But I just did what I always do in that situation…. berate myself until I am ensconced in fear and try to forgive myself for it. Still working on it. She was a gorgeous person inside and out, and I made a huge mistake in losing her friendship. Picking up the pieces of all these broken relationships has forced me to realize my common-denominator personality and try to fix it. Fixing it is relative. I may not be able to go back and repair unhealthy patterns, but I can damn sure work on them not happening again. I haven’t seen Sarah in three weeks because getting around on the Metro takes up my whole day. But she is my savior, one negative feeling at a time. She’s helping me rewire my brain so that negative thoughts aren’t the first to pervade my mind, but ones that build me up into the visionary I know I have the capability to be, instead of these unhealthy patterns that have shattered my life.

I can only hope that it is a “breaking eggs to make an omelet” situation, because if all of this psychological work is for naught, it will destroy me yet again, and I will have to be resilient enough to recover…………… again. I have truly gotten past the idea that I need to kill myself to stop my ability to hurt others. It seemed altruistic at the time, because my brain mangled my thought process that life would go on for people who didn’t want to worry about me anymore.

The thing that really got me past that place was not my therapist, but someone I’ve come to think of as a friend, even though I’ve never met her. I follow her podcast every week, and I’ve read all her books save the newest one. It’s Lutheran pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber, who reaches into my heart and squeezes like no one else. Don’t read her sermons. Not ever. Listen to them, and feel her presence. I learned that cutting off my own life was the same in relationship to myself that it is with others- cutting off the grace that would allow new shoots to spring up, a phrase appropriate in this season of Advent. I am in the process of grafting hope onto my pain……. and right now, there’s a lot of it.

The truth of the matter is that I wish I could go back in time, but that is never, ever possible. As with The Doctor, I cannot cross my own timeline. These pieces of pain are fixed events in the evolution of my growth. The challenge is feeling every bit of that pain without numbing it. I take Klonopin, but it does not abate emotional pain. It keeps me from feeling the physical effects of anxiety, such as shortness of breath and a tight chest that will not quit unless I actively do something to change my mood. In the hospital, I learned those skills. Most of the time, it means writing out what I’m feeling while listening to something upbeat, like Eminem or Aqua. Sometimes it means walking to the Metro, 36 minutes of actively getting my heart rate up. While I walk, I think.

I think about how much I miss being married and having a friend that liked reading what I had to say. I think about how much I did to destroy both of those connections, and they weigh heavily on my heart.

Maybe a moo-au would help.

I didn’t know that Ingrid had also been an Episcopalian prior to coming to CCC, and she was telling a story about getting hazed in the choir. Apparently, they decided that the new kid had to sit next to the meanest old biddy in the Alto section. So Ingrid shows up in all her, “what’s up, bitches?” glory and the lady immediately says, “I like you.”

Sunday morning rolls around, and instead of slits through to your pants pockets that most cassocks have, their cassocks had their own pockets, deep enough for a wallet, a set of keys… Ingrid says you probably could’ve fit a baby in there but she never tested it…. and Ingrid finds out that this woman has a full flask of whiskey hidden under her surplice. The “mean old biddy” takes it out during the sermon and says, “you want a sip?” It was at this point that I said, “where three or four are gathered, so goes a fifth?” The women around me just burst out laughing and said, “OH MY GOD! I’ve never heard that one.” I laughed because that’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone say that.

Now see, that’s the problem with being a congregationalists. Our robes don’t have pockets.