On Sunday, Rev. Susannah put me in charge of the Advent prayer stations. It was an exercise designed to let the kids feel Advent, rather than just hearing about it. In one station, they wrote prayers on strips of red and green paper, making a chain for a Christmas tree. In another, they wrote prayers on a wall for everyone to read. In the third, there was a Fisher Price nativity set (where does one get one of those?), and the exercise was to take a piece of paper and draw yourself into the nativity. Being the Love Actually fan that I am, I drew myself in as a lobster. The last station was tea lights, with large pieces of paper laid out on a table. One said Love, one said Peace, one said Joy, and the last said Hope. The exercise was to say a prayer and to put your tealight next to the piece of paper that represented it. I wanted the kids to pray for something real, and so I said, “I know that you guys won’t throw down if I don’t, so I’ll go first. I went through a divorce this year. It was really hard.” The eldest boy said, “it sounds like you could use some joy.” I said, “I do…. and it’s standing right in front of me.” All the kids smiled, and as I put my candle on the word Hope, I heard one of the kids (not sure which, but I have a good lead) say, “smooth, Lanagan.”

Laying down my feelings first worked. A lot of the kids prayed for peace because their families were fighting. Some prayed for joy for the same reason. It was intimate and beautiful, these children sharing their deepest prayers…. and feeling so grateful and humble that I was the one they chose to listen.

At the end, I prayed over all of them……..

As I do every night.

Amen.

I took a break from blogging yesterday, because I needed to live enough to have something to write about. It was clear and bright until it was time to go home, and then I waded back to the house in a downpour. It wasn’t pleasant, but it had its moments. For instance, Silver Spring is beautiful in the rain. The lamps dance on the puddles downtown, “tripping the light fantastic.” This morning it is grey, and the umbrella I keep stashed in my backpack may indeed get some use.

I carry an umbrella now, and don’t think I’m happy about it. I am from Portland, bitch. Umbrellas are for tourists. Period. I gave in when my cousin Nathan decided I should have one, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I compromised with myself. I WILL NOT use it in mist. However, a toad strangler is a different story, just like the rain between Portland and Silver Spring.

The music in SBUX this morning is the Leonard Cohen Hallelujah. It seems like most people enjoy this song more than I do. I enjoy harmony with the melody, and even though the piano arrangement does that, I’d rather have two voices than one. However, the coffee is outstanding this morning…. Probably because I got here so early that it is fresh. It’s Christmas Blend, with four Splenda and lots of half-n-half. I only got a tall, because I took a caffeine pill at 6:00 to make sure I made it out the door on time. I overslept yesterday by a large amount, but I Ubered to work and made it 10 minutes early.
Most of the time, I try to make it to Starbucks by 7:00, so that I can walk to the train at 7:40.

And on that note, it’s time to go. Catch you later- probably lunch.

Love you miss you mean it.

In today’s Gospel, it is not Jesus preaching, but John the Baptist. While Jesus tended to use parables and soft power, John puts it right out there in black and white. He is not particularly nice, because in a sense, he doesn’t have to be. He doesn’t feel that his job is to spoon-feed the crowds that come to see him, but to challenge them. He is not convinced that salvation comes from mere words, but in decisive action. Someone else will come to baptize in the name of the Holy Spirit. He is there to wake them up before that person arrives. His sermon reflects this:

John said to the crowds that came out to be baptized by him, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruits worthy of repentance. Do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.”

He is saying to the Jews around him, “please stop with the ‘we are God’s chosen people’ line, because you think it gives you an excuse to act however you want.” In other words, you cannot treat people poorly and think that you can wriggle out of punishment for it just because you’re Jewish. You are just as likely to get the same ax that the fruit tree will get if you don’t show your faith through your actions and not just your words. John does not want the Jews to be Jewish in name alone, but to be known for how they act in community with others. I’ll let John continue:

And the crowds asked him, “What then should we do?” In reply he said to them, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” Even tax collectors came to be baptized, and they asked him, “Teacher, what should we do?” He said to them, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.” Soldiers also asked him, “And we, what should we do?” He said to them, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.”

In other words, no matter what you do for a living, be present in it. NOTICE the world around you and act accordingly. To John, it is reprehensible to have so much and not share the wealth with the less fortunate. It is a sin to steal from people by extorting taxes. And if you’re a soldier, be a good and honest one.

These words remain true today. When John was preaching to that group, he knew that a small amount of people owned most of the resources available, and he was railing against it. In our modern-day United States, we are facing the exact same problem. We do have the resources to feed the poor many times over, but do we actually do it? John believes that the poor work just as hard as the rich, so being poor is not their fault. It’s the result of low wages and the rich keeping their money for themselves. His idea of social justice is to call attention to that problem, to specifically call out people who have money and connections enough to help the plight of the needy, and don’t…. because in John’s world, the definition of being Jewish is caring for others. Look beyond his hard shell and into his heart. For John, it boils down to one idea. How can you say you love your God with all your mind and strength, while at the same time ignoring the world around you?

To John, this hypocrisy is unbecoming. He attempts to divide the line between good and bad in one brush stroke. Those who do good will be lifted up, and those who do evil will be struck down.

And yet, according to Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, this line is too grey for a black and white decision:

If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being.

No person on earth is all wheat and no chaff. By the same token, no one is all chaff and no wheat, either. Good and evil look different depending on where you’re standing. Listen to the last verses of today’s Gospel:

As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, John answered all of them by saying, “I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.

John’s message is clear and larger than life… but is it feasible? Can you reduce a person to wheat or chaff when we all have elements of each? I choose to believe in this time of Advent, while we are waiting for the baby and sitting in the literal darkness of the season, we have the time to burn our own chaff. We do not have to wait for Jesus to do it for us. We have the time and ability to look inward, toward the bright hope of a new birth within ourselves. What does it mean to be baptized with the Holy Spirit and fire? In modern day, I believe it is working on the pieces of yourself that tie you to past grievances which do not allow you to reach up. When you constantly focus on how much you need and how much you deserve, you close yourself off to the possibility that sharing your abundance with others will in fact, feed you. You cut yourself off from the possibility that grace will happen in a moment of seeing another’s need and filling it. Then, as now, John’s message of social justice rings true… even if it isn’t couched in the loving tone with which Jesus preaches.

John preached from a place that said God was capable of counting our sins and deciding whether we were worthy. Jesus preached from a place that said God was out of the accounting business altogether. Perhaps that’s why John has such an “I’m not worthy” (cue Wayne, Garth, and Alice Cooper) moment in talking about the One who is coming. John says that he is not worthy enough to even untie his sandals. I wonder what John was looking for in that kind of Messiah. Perhaps he knew that it was because his preaching was so divisive and the Messiah would come to unite…. something which John was incapable of doing because he could only see black and white. Shades of grey were beyond him.

But are they beyond us?

Perhaps John’s unworthiness stems from the fact that he is unable to do what the Messiah will… Jesus offers to become the chaff for us. He offers to take on the sins of the world so that they are forgiven before they even happen. He allows our chaff to burn away and forgives us as he does it. The gift has been given. What are we supposed to with it?

Are we, as children of God, able to handle the shades of grey that permeate our world? Are we, as children of God, able to handle the shades of grey within our own souls? All people, especially as they age, have layers upon layers of feelings about everything that has happened so far. And we are all fallible people, trying to make it as best we can. We carry the moments where we have created darkness on our hearts and sometimes, the weight becomes intolerable to us. In those moments, we are called to reach up for the tempering fire that faith has to offer. We are called to remember our baptism and the prevenient grace that Jesus provides. We are already forgiven for our humanity, but the invitation is so much more than that. What does it mean to live in a world where you know you are forgiven? What would it look like if you could put your burdens down and shout, “I AM BAPTIZED!” What would it look like if you tapped into the needs of the world and responded to them, because you were relieved of the weight your past sins have created? What would it look like if you said “enough is enough!,” and decided to live from a place of abundance instead of a place of need?

Scarcity is a scary thing. We all believe that there is not enough, and we hold on to everything we have because we are afraid that someone could take it. But it is a different thing to give it away willingly, freely in the name of burning your own chaff………. As we give away and see the hope and joy our generosity creates, the THINGS we are missing are replaced by the EMOTIONS which giving endows.

It is letting go of the preconceived notion that being loved by God is all it takes to be a Christian. It is acting in such a way that people around us know it by our actions. It is a radical, extravagant welcome to the poor, the sick, the friendless, and the needy. It is living in the promise that if we provide for others, it does not mean that we are losing anything. It means we are gaining the ability to extend the extravagant welcome that has been given to us.

If we are called to be Christ in the world, it is our job to be born with the baby every year. It is to take in new life, new hope, new plans for helping others as we achieve our own greatness. It is to burn away the parts of ourselves that no longer serve us, and get into the business of serving others. It is tapping into the vibration of the universe that says, “if I provide for someone else, giving will become receiving.”

As Advent draws to a close and Christmas will soon be here, what is the chaff you will burn away to make room for abundance? How will you bring light into your own darkness so that you can receive the baby with open arms?

John’s message may be wild and rough around the edges, but do not dismiss it. This is important work we are doing, this shedding of our old ways and renewing our covenant to do what is right and good, both for ourselves and those with whom we live in community. People should not know we are Christians just because we tell them. People should know we are Christians by our decisive actions….. the ones that say “God has given me so much that it would make me feel good to share those blessings with you.” It is not proselytizing. It is quiet. It is giving your from your abundance to those who need it, without thanks or praise. The burning of the chaff is letting go of your fear that there will not be enough.

Growing up is realizing that there always is.

This morning I was so full of grief and anxiety that I didn’t get out of bed until it was time to go and visit Prianka. I knew she would get me to the point where I could live out of abundance again. It comes in waves. I try to live my life that way, but there is still mental illness to manage, which takes my real thoughts and mangles them until I can’t remember what is real. I remain closed off to what the universe has offered me, which is a whole hell of a lot. When I keep my mind on my future, everything looks bright. When I run across something that opens an emotional wound, I sit with it to the point that I can’t leave the house. This morning it was a case of letting my emotions manage me, rather than me managing them. I try as hard as I can not to go to that place, but for someone who suffers from bipolar disorder, sometimes it is unavoidable and I just have to deal with it until it passes. The urge to isolate is strong, to be fearful of what the universe has to offer because it is so foreign.

Alternatively, I do see abundance. I do see myself as the prosperous person I want to be. I have landed an amazing job that pays me what I’m worth, and not only that, the universe responded when I put myself out there. They wanted me because of my blog and the profile they read on the Maryland Workforce Commission web site. Yes, that’s right. They read my blog before they hired me, which is enough to make me tear up with joy. They know my shit and they hired me, anyway. It doesn’t get any better than that, because why would I want to work for anyone that didn’t recognize me for the writer I am? That didn’t want me just as I am, without one plea? In fact, one of my coworkers thinks that my blogging is a good thing and doesn’t mind me blogging about work as long as I am not giving away proprietary information. I know within myself that if something was going wrong, I wouldn’t write about it, anyway. There’s no point in getting Dooced. But at the same time, there are lots of exciting things that I’ve never gotten to do before, and I do want to talk about it…. mostly because the more I am myself, the more abundance comes my way. It was a shift learning to live that way…. one that is still happening because I have moments of fear to sit with until they’re gone and I can look at the universe as a friend. That if I am honest about what I want, and create a clear vision for it, the universe will answer.

I put myself out there with Prianka today. I said, “we don’t get to see each other very often. We should talk on the phone more.” I was surprised that it even came out of my mouth, but it was something I needed to ask the universe and hope she responded positively. If I could capture Prianka’s essence in a perfume bottle, I’d put it behind my ears just for safety. She is my guru, the living example of “when you ask the universe for what you want, people will find a way to make it happen.” Having that energy around me has me striving to be a better person, to live in that space of promise rather than the space of fear that limits me to isolating in my room. I am missing amazing opportunities to network on the Metro. You never know when you might be sitting next to an intern, a veteran, an intelligence officer, etc. I just mean networking socially. It would be cool to know those sorts of people because I am fascinated by them, not that I want to work in the world they inhabit. For me, it’s better to hear their stories than have my own. I am not the person in the room. I’m just the person that wants to write it down afterward.

It feels like I am exactly where I need to be at this time in my life. I’ve managed to live in abundance because I’m not viscerally angry at Dana, just sad. Not bitter, just broken. I think that’s a better place to be….. just trying to work through my own feelings without making anything worse than it already is. Bitterness and anger do not serve me. Realizing that I am broken open does. Is it weird that I feel I needed Silver Spring, but at the same time, I also feel like Silver Spring needed me? I plugged in quickly and easily. I found something that fed my soul right away, so I didn’t have much time to dwell on my sadness. I had all the time in the world to realize how much I could give. How much I could stretch to accommodate the blessings that were being bestowed upon me even when I wasn’t in a place to receive them. In the words of Oprah Winfrey, “the crown has been placed upon your head and all you have to do is STAND UP.” That’s the process I am going through now. I have been prostrate on the floor, and I am up to my knees. One of these days, and I hope it is soon, I will rise up to meet the God-energy that’s flowed around me and watch it flow through. Even though we talk every day, I think God requires something and I don’t quite know what it is. But lessons are repeated until you get it. God taps on your shoulder, and if you don’t get it the first time, there’s a second tap. The third time, it is full-on Nock Yo Punkass Down. I am in the transition of living in fear to living in abundance, and if I keep saying it to myself over and over, I will believe it.

I am in the time and place I am supposed to be. I landed on my feet solidly in order to have time with myself, to get to know me and try to accept the fact that I’m just me. I have my own quirks, faults, and flaws…. but that doesn’t mean I have to dislike myself for it. I’m no worse or better than anyone else. If I ever have another serious relationship, it will be a series of dates laying out all our quirks to see if they line up. Right now, I can’t even see that far, and am happy to be single for the rest of my life unless someone so miraculous comes into my life that it doesn’t make sense to isolate into my books anymore. I just learn so much more when I’m reading and praying than i do when I am out and about. I hear you have to do that to meet people.

I am skeptical.

I do not live in abundance when it comes to opening up to other people. Eventually, I will try. But right now I feel a large wall of protection built up to keep other people away. That wall does not come from a place of anger. It comes from a place of wanting to staunch the bleeding that’s already happened. To open myself up to anyone new, friend or love interest, is as scary to me as picking up the phone or a venomous snake. Believe it or don’t, I’d take my chances with the snake first, because then I wouldn’t have to call anyone ever again. 😉 To paraphrase one of Dana’s chefs in culinary school (he was talking about eating mushrooms), “you can hold any snake……….. once.”

And on that note, I’m going to head to the train. I need to go to youth group tonight. If is part of my plan in terms of opening myself up to abundance. I’m not sure I teach the kids anything except how to teach me, and that’s how it should be. I’m not a top-down leader. I’m a soft-power kind of leader. I tend to get much better results that way because none of the kids think of me as “the heavy.” When they’re out of line, I can handle it quickly without getting the “OMG she is such a bitch #eyeroll” that most teenagers have perfected.

No, my kids have perfected being together and dealing with their differences in healthy ways. It is abundance in action, which only motivates me to be as forward-thinking as them.

We’re all moving together toward all the universe has to offer.

Amen.

It’s been a day of watching Covert Affairs on Amazon Prime. Piper Perabo looks and acts so much like Jennifer Garner that it’s like watching Sydney Bristow all over again. Annie Walker (main character) is a linguist that was picked up by the CIA in college because she was fluent in like, five languages. It’s action packed, mostly because she doesn’t let on that she understands so many and just takes in information because people who don’t speak English naturally assume that people who do can’t speak others. I have witnessed this first hand many times when people are speaking Spanish in front of me and don’t realize that I do understand most of what they’re saying, if not all. I can listen a lot better than I can read and write.

Speaking of which, I would like to go back to Ensenada. It was the best trip I’ve ever taken, minus the fact that when we were snorkeling (Katharin, Jill, Linday, and me) the water was filled with jellyfish and Jill, quite cutely, said to watch being stung on “both our asses.” She meant both of our cheeks, but it was funny as hell and still comes up in conversation.

Speaking of Jill, gotta talk about it.

I met Jill on the first day of class at UH, right before (I think) Comparative Politics. Einstein’s gave me a free bagel dog, and I took it because I was polite. I don’t really like hot dogs all that much. So, I give it to this girl sitting next to me and we’re still friends today. We have said many times that it’s a shame she wasn’t a lesbian, because we had such a great “meet cute.” She always says, “you had me at bagel dog.” The next class after that was Con Law, probably the hardest and best class I ever had in college (so far). Lindsay, Jill, David, Andre, and I became a study group. We worked harder than we have in a long time. Our professor owned a share of The Continental Club, so Thursday nights we’d all go and party down. We just built a community.

A community that let our professor buy us Patron shots because he knew his tests were of the devil and I think he felt somewhat sorry for us. I took the best notes ever. I type 80-90 words per minute, and I had a transcript of every class. I don’t know where those notes went, but if I had them back I would still use them. He was hilarious, and cool like the other side of a pillow. He graduated from UT and took the bar in both Texas and Louisiana (just for fun). Taking the bar in Louisiana is very different from any other state because it’s based on French provincial law. Just a total badass and I can truly say I loved him and he loved me, in that deep companionate “I will hold your hair back if you drink too much Patron” kind of way. I will say for the record that I am making fun of him here. I wasn’t there the night Patron shots were taken, and I will regret that forever. Good stories came out of it that I only know by hearsay. The ONE Thursday I missed. JEEZ.

The soundtrack was a Beatles cover band that I still love called “Beetle.” They still play on Thursdays at the club, and if you haven’t been, do not pass Go until you do. If there’s anything I miss about living in Houston, it’s Thursday nights with Lindsay and Jill.

It was a weird time in my life. I was dating a dry drunk who verbally abused me all the  time,  but we looked like the perfect couple on the outside. One night at Beetle, a waitress who’d known me for years came up behind me and surprised me by shotgunning me with weed. I didn’t know it was going to happen, and I was truly embarrassed. Katharin reacted by asking if I was having an affair, “knew” that I had feelings for this woman and wanted to run away with her, when the truth was that I barely knew her. She was my fucking waitress. Katharin said that the shotgun was just an excuse to make out with me and proceeded to berate me for it for over a year. Speaking of which, I made the gargantuan mistake of telling her that my doctor was cute, and all I meant was that she was good eye candy and also one of the smartest doctors I’d ever met in my life. Katharin got so mad that she nearly hit me and said, “are you going to run away with her?” I said, “No, she’s married and pregnant.” Katharin said, “are you going to raise another man’s child?” Whoa there, freak show.

Katharin was awesome to hang out with, but being with her was a mistake from the very beginning. She was a rebound from Angela, who broke my heart when she said she wanted to marry me and reneged ten days later. Angela and I have healed from it, and we’re friends now. She is dear to me. Katharin is not. Katharin wanted to marry me because she said she was tired of the two or three year dance, and I got the message that she wanted to get married and settle down if only I’d change everything about myself. Katharin wanted to be married, but I’m not sure she wanted to be married to me. The fight where she punched a hole in the wall haunts me, because my first love, her wife, and their toddler were set to arrive the next day. The wall was fixed, but the paint had hardly set when they walked in the door. I wish I’d reached out to Meag and told her what was going on, but I didn’t. I just sat and seethed in unhappiness and thought, “this is my life.” One of the last nails in the coffin of that relationship was when she said, “I really wish you’d go back to college, because it would prove to me that you’re not a flake.” This was bad news because she actively prevented me from going to night school by saying she didn’t want me to go…. that I’d fall in love with my professor and run away with him. It was a never-ending stream of wanting me to get out and do things, but actively preventing me from doing them. She had a huge grudge against my family and called me a spoiled little rich girl. Her family was not of money and she held it over my head that my family did special things for us. At that time, I was working in my stepmother’s office as a medical assistant and earning my keep. It’s one of the best jobs I’ve ever had, and I miss it like air. The only thing was that it was so far from the UH campus that I rarely made it to my 5:30 class. I studied the online notes and Jill covered for me  when I wasn’t there.

I already feel like a flake for leaving UH when I did. I didn’t need someone else to beat me up over my own insecurity. I was young and in love, and wanted to be married, living in my Paris. Kathleen and I were together for three and a half years, and she worked for me in the Information Systems department, but we were dating before she got the job. I didn’t want to move without her, and I still have feelings for her in a fond memory kind of way. It wasn’t all bad, despite the way she tended to treat me. There are no words to describe how broken I was then. I think to myself that I would have helped her if she was sick, and that “in sickness and in health” was being stretched to its limits. I felt abandoned and alone. I went to a grief support group in Houston and showed up at Diane’s work two months later. I just needed her mothermentorsisterfriend love that we’d created over the years, and for a bit, I got it wholeheartedly. I get the feeling that if there’s anyone in the world that Diane truly loves, it’s me. We met seven years before Susan was even a twinkle, and Diane watched me grow up, for better or for worse. The sunshine and chill was extreme, and when we were fighting for some stupid reason or another, I’d pine like a wounded animal, baying at the moon with loss.

That loss didn’t abate until I became the moon for someone else.

And on that note, I’m off. I’ve gone to a very deep, dark, and sad place so I’m going to walk to 7-Eleven for a Cheerwine and pump up the gangsta rap to try and change my mood. I just feel weird all over.

God, where to start…………………………………………..

#prayingonthespaces

I’m listening to a Spotify playlist I made called “Kiss My Brass” and relaxing to the sound of Wynton Marsalis’s horn. When I was at HSPVA, I got to take a master class with him. He even let me play his horn. I doubt he would remember me, but it was a life-changing moment. Sometimes I miss being a trumpet player. However, when I pick up my horn, it makes me upset that I’m not as good as I used to be and knowing within myself how many hours it would take to get back there. It seems like more trouble than it’s worth. I wasn’t THAT good to begin with. Just good enough. I have a huge, lazy, fat sound…. and that pretty much ends what I bring to the table. I’m also a good mimic, so I can play classical or jazz. I just don’t have any endurance. After about half an hour, my lips feel like they’re just going to drop off…. and that was true when I was a kid, too. I never got my embouchure to the point that it didn’t hurt to play. I picked up some bad habits and never corrected them. Maybe when I retire. We’ll see. I’d rather focus on singing because I’m so much more confident about it. Because I had so many problems with endurance while playing my horn, I couldn’t get to the point where I could play solos without a tremendous amount of stage fright. With singing, that never happens. If anything, I become somewhat of a ham (“descant whore,” as Wendy & Dana would say). Plus, I am lucky enough to have a choir that needs me, and I need them. That pretty much settles the argument within myself right there.

I didn’t make it to practice last night, though. It was imperative to me that I get there, but I got on the wrong train and went quite a bit out of my way. By the time I finally got to the church, there was only 20 minutes left of rehearsal, so I just walked home. I’d left the house at 6:30 that morning and it was 8:40 at night. Not only was I late, I was so tired I could barely hold my head up. It’s not a good excuse, but it’s an excuse.

I’ll see everyone on Sunday at AM rehearsal. I am lucky that we’ve been working on these pieces for a while, so I won’t be sight-reading or anything. I am unusual for a choir member in that I was taught to read music in band before I started singing. Solfege drives me up the wall and I will never understand it, mostly because I won’t put any effort into it. I see it as totally pointless. Actually, I think less of it than that. When Nae uses it in choir, I have no idea what’s going on. I just concentrate on the notes and try not to stick out because I don’t know the words. I’m all like, “just learn to read music.” Reading music is not rocket surgery, but for some reason choir directors love solfege so I am stuck with it.

I am excited that none of the pieces we’re doing for Christmas are things I’ve heard before. There’s a whole swath of music that lots of choir directors use for Christmas, so there’s been a lot of them where I’ve sung the same thing. I love straining my brain. For instance, right now I’m listening to Variations on “America” by Charles Ives. If that doesn’t get your brain in gear, nothing will.

The Mozart Effect works on me, but it’s not just him. All music that bends math to its limits will do. I adore J.S. Bach, Dave Brubeck, Paul Hindemith, etc. It keeps my brain from getting tired, which is good, because coding requires a ton of focus for a very long time. As someone with ADD, I have to double and triple check my work to make sure I haven’t flaked on a tiny piece that will cause big problems later. I can’t even imagine how sick to my stomach I would get if I sent out an e-mail with broken tables or links.

I have been working so hard that I’m ready for the weekend. I plan to spend Saturday in my pajamas cleaning my room and watching Covert Affairs. Then, on Sunday after church I’m hanging out with………. wait for it………. PRI DIDDY!!! She’s only one of my favorite people of all time and space. I also have youth group Sunday night, which also feeds my soul in a way I don’t get anywhere else.

Also, don’t let me forget to call Aaron. It’s his birthday today. He’s 29……….. again.

So, one year Dana and I are decorating the Christmas tree and in order to honor both of our family traditions, we put both kinds of lights on the tree. Dana grew up with the red, blue, green, and yellow lights. Our family was all white, all the time.

So we’re standing there admiring the tree and our handiwork when Dana says, “the whites look so pretty next to the coloreds.” It doesn’t take five seconds before I am quietly shaking with laughter, tears and snot coming down my face. I can clearly tell that Dana has no idea why I’m laughing. When it dawns on her, she just says, “Wait.” It was an unintentional slip, and now so famous it gets told every year. Putting it here in the repository so I don’t forget it.

I literally slumped to the floor, not making a sound but rocking back and forth as not to laugh so loud the neighbors will think a cat is being strangled.

When I think about all I’m doing at work, I feel like Bob tied to the mast in What About Bob? It’s crazy how much I’m picking up and how fast. I get all excited about my work because I’m adulting so hard. I’m blocking out the rest of the world (as all coders do) and listening to Mannheim Steamroller’s Christmas albums. They’re my favorite for this time of year. As you can imagine, my favorite is Hark! The Herald Trumpets Sing. It’s the perfect soundtrack for SQL. I’m working on HTML-formatted e-mails with fields populated by databases. For lay people, here’s the explanation. It goes something like this: “Dear Mr. W, you bought X and Y on Z date.” The e-mail pulls from a database so that we don’t have to hand-write 7,000 e-mails. Does that make sense? It’s like a mail merge for the web. Actually, it’s exactly that. Look at me translating geek to English! Actually, I tend to put that in my cover letters (seriously). It’s one of my most adultiest skills because most of the time, when people don’t understand technology, they are treated with a pejorative sneer and it shows. I am unique in that if you ask me what something is or how it works, I won’t judge you and I won’t talk down, as if I am God’s gift to computers and you, frankly, are not. However, I WILL laugh about you with my friends later. At least give me that. It helps me to show up for another day.

There are no words in the English language that can describe how happy I feel right now, because I get it. Transitioning from the help desk to coding is the best thing that has ever happened to me, because as I told Argo, “I would do damn near anything to get out of saying ‘this is Leslie, how can I help you?'” I have done my time. Other people can interface with customers while I pound out code. Being on the phone is terrifying in terms of not knowing who’s on the other end and how angry they might be. Some of the reason that tech people are so insular is that they’ve really been treated like crap by people who don’t understand what’s going on and have gotten very angry because they can’t wrap their brains around what is being said to them. I would say that at least 90% of anger is fear of the unknown, and that translates across any job field. But tech is particularly hard because the level of knowledge that the customer has is so far below what is actually happening… and because of jargon, it’s hard to drill down into simple terms because they don’t exist. I tend to find them easier because I am verbally flexible, but at the same time, a port is a port. A firewall is a firewall. I can’t make it any simpler than that. RTFM (Read the fucking manual), because PEBKAC (Problem exists between keyboard and chair).

The music has switched to Light Jazz Christmas, Bring a Torch, Jeanette Isabella specifically. I originally found this album as a throwaway at Walgreens, you know, one of those $5 cds at the checkout? It was the cheapest Christmas album I’ve ever bought, and I listened to it CONSTANTLY over the holidays. I lost the disc, so I’m ecstatic that I found it again on Spotify. I’m also drinking a lemon energy drink that tastes like cold Theraflu, so I got that goin’ for me.

It’s spectacularly quiet in the office as per normal. I have mentioned this before, but it is such a gift. Nothing breaks my concentration, so there’s a better chance I’ll remember where I left off if I have to go to the bathroom. Yes, that is really all it takes. Thank you for asking. If I get up from my desk, I am thinking about something else so hard that I don’t have room for those details. It’s one of the reasons that when I’m driving, my phone giving the directions is so necessary. If I didn’t use GPS, I’d forget where I was going.

I’m rethinking getting a car when I have the money for it. It won’t take long because I live like a monk. The only reason why is that it costs $50/day to use Uber to get from my house to work and home again. If I use the Metro, it takes me an hour and a half both ways, which isn’t bad…. unless I have to get somewhere fast. For instance, tonight I have to miss choir practice because I don’t get off work until 6:30 and I have to make it to the pharmacy before they close, because they’re not open as early as I’d like. Actually, I take that back. I have enough medication to go to the pharmacy tomorrow, because it is NOT a good time of year to miss rehearsal. I can’t believe I even thought about skipping it. Besides, if I miss choir practice, I won’t get to see Ingrid, my spirit animal. #epicfail

The other great thing about choir is that my friend Karen has a doppelganger in my choir who is also named Karen, and I can’t look at this Karen without seeing the other one. Because of this, in a weird way her face feels like home. When my friend Karen used to call me, I’d pick up the phone by saying, “IT’S THE KAREN MILLER SHOW!” That’s because Karen isn’t a person. She’s an event, and anyone who knows her would say the same thing. She’s the kind of person that is so quirky and lovable you can’t help but want to be around her…. but I think the quirky is an act, because she’s a brilliant Fulbright scholar. She reminds me a lot of Lindsay, who is a brilliant political mind and gets herself into situations that would only happen to her. I will not tell you what those might be, but I will tell you that when she was in high school, she got in an argument with the whole famn damily over whether New Mexico was a state if that gives you any indication.

In any case, I have to watch myself with “new Karen,” because she looks SO MUCH like “old Karen” that I feel like I know her better than I really do. Memory is such a tricky thing.

Speaking of memories, I had a good one today, which was Dana learning Python on Code Academy and seeing her ask Aaron questions in my head. Dana would be a brilliant coder if she put her mind to become one, because she can math so much better than I can. Her logic ability is fantastic. I am so glad that I can write about Dana fondly, because that’s what I choose to remember. I don’t choose to dwell on toxicity and pain, but forgiveness and peace. I just love her so much that I can’t help but remember the good things rather than the bad ones. She is also not a person, but an event. If you’ve ever met her, you’d know what I mean. She can own a room inside of a minute.

And on that note, I have to get back to coding and adulting. 😉

I spent my childhood watching narratives get spun, twisted and renegotiated as family events were transformed from incidents into stories. There’s a big difference, it turns out, between the two. An incident is an event that happens in real time, with real consequences, usually involving real (and raw) human emotion. A story is what you make out of it later. Incidents are wild and dangerous; stories are controlled and reassuring.

Elizabeth Gilbert
Your History Is Whatever You Choose to Tell About Yourself

Did I do my stories justice? Did I make the right decision by saying X or Y? Is telling my story worth other people being angry at what I’ve written? Am I leaving out parts of myself that I should tell, but won’t because it doesn’t “fit?”

Yes.

Maybe.

Yes.

When I look at the past, I’ve never let facts get in the way of telling a good story. But I find that I reveal more than most when I lose myself in writing what I’m feeling at the moment without editing (as you can tell- there are typos all over). At the same time, the way I remember things are the way I remember things, and all emotions are valid even when my logic is screwed up and backwards. My logic is screwed up and backwards most of the time, because my EQ is so much higher than my IQ. I don’t tend to remember the facts, but I remember what I felt around them. I remember how incidents made me feel rather than the order in which they happened. In this blog, it really shows.

I can tell when I won’t lay down The River.

When I wrote that sentence, fear enveloped me like a coat. As a writer, it was supposed to. Sometimes, The River means telling someone else’s story instead of mine, and I try to avoid that at all costs…. this blog is not about anyone else’s emotions, because their reactions are their reactions, and those are valid, too. I just can’t speak to them. I can only speak about my reactions to what has happened, and not what anyone else was thinking in the same moment. I just take guesses, and sometimes they’re off to a frightening degree because I haven’t taken in someone else’s words as they were meant to come across to me. I have written my own spin because again, I cannot read minds. There is only so much I have to go on, and it’s often wrong because I’m not listening…. or as I told Argo, “sometimes what you think of as ‘not listening’ is actually ‘not understanding’ and I am beating the wrong dead horse instead of the right one.” When I originally wrote that sentence, it made me ruminate and laugh at the same time.

I know me. We’ve met.

I do not have an easy peace about writing. If I am going to get emotions out enough to make me feel better, it has to scare me in the moment. I have so much compassion for me in my older entries, because I am far enough away from those emotions that it feels like caring for someone else, and I can do that. As I walk further from who I used to be into who I want to become, it feels like one of The Doctor’s regenerations. I might not change bodies, but my mind feels completely different. Feeling like I am listening to someone else’s story allows me to forgive myself, because I wouldn’t treat a friend nearly as harshly as I would treat myself, and that is really something considering how bad it got between Argo and me. I lashed out at her because a piece of me was missing and I couldn’t get angry at the person who deserved it, so I got angry at her instead. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t sane. But the beauty of seeing that much anger in myself encouraged me to get it handled. I had to look back at myself on this web site, and when I didn’t like what I saw, it was the impetus to change directions. See, I can read and get angry about what I’ve written just as easily as you can…. if not more so.

I am sure that Elizabeth Gilbert has had a few “what the fuck was I thinking?” moments, because all writers do if they’re writing about themselves. Crafting your story so that you can’t really see yourself is not hurting anyone but you. There’s not a repository of real feelings, just created ones. The entries where I’ve really taken off the mask scare me, but I know they were necessary in making me the person I am today. Telling all my secrets makes me immune to blackmail, because there’s nothing in my past that I wouldn’t say about myself if we were talking. I am an open book, and as much as you read on this web site, there’s still a layer I only share with my inner circle.

And in time, those stories will come out, too, because bringing them to light makes them not look so bad after sitting with them until I resolve the conflict I had with the way I behaved. I don’t write because it is easy… I write because it is hard. The day-to-day unraveling of my marriage is disheartening and scary. The C3 I used on Argo is cringeworthy. I beat up on myself until I can make my peace with it, and it takes a long time. I do not vomit emotions on the internet and feel like the subject is closed. If anything, it is broken open. You get about 20% of my thoughts because in my own head, there are subroutines upon subroutines, and I can only put one on the page at a time. That’s why you get different reactions at different times. I am feeling a thousand emotions and they can’t all “make it in.” So the stories have different emotions at different times on the page, but I was thinking them all at the same time in the moment. It seems like hypocrisy, but I have no problem with cognitive dissonance. For instance, I can love Dana and want to kick her ass at the exact same time, and if you can’t feel me, you’ve never been in a serious relationship of any kind. If only my 64-bit brain could play the piano on the page, two rhythms running at once. But there is only one piece of virtual paper. I absolutely FEEL ALL THE THINGS, but I can’t express them in real time. That would require being able to write two concurrent blog entries and I nearly flunked group piano. There’s no way I could write with a Dvorak for each hand. But even then, you’re only getting two streams of thought when there are more like 16.

I can only tell it like I think it is.

Right or wrong.

That’s my SBUX order this morning as I make my way through writing and getting on the Metro. My alarm is set for 7:45, so this may be short unless I get inspiration and need to keep writing on the train. Right now, I have no inspiration and yet, I am writing anyway, about anything. I have to keep going, because stopping just creates more silence as I plan out what to say and don’t actually put it to paper. Well, not paper, but you get the gist. The last time I wrote a letter, it was to my precious Argo, and I had to take LOTS of ibuprofen afterward because my hand hurt so bad. Not a fan. I probably need carpal tunnel surgery, but no time. Maybe next year. We’ll see. Right now, I am just busy beyond belief between work, choir, and youth group. It’s only going to get busier until after the first of the year.

The only thing I really hate is that choir lasts until the exact moment I need to go to sleep, and the temptation is not to show up. But I do. Showing up in all things is my new mantra. They need me, and I need them…… desperately. It’s my one social outing during the week. I can’t remember anyone’s name except Ingrid, but that’s okay. It will come with time. Now is where I just get nervous because everyone knows me, but I don’t know them, and it’s a pain in the ass to ask them their name because shouldn’t I know it by now? Not so much.

I can remember their faces and what they wear and how they smell if they wear loud perfume, but the names just don’t come to me. That’s new. I used to be able to remember everyone’s name. Now, I’m just lost. I got up in front of the congregation when I first joined, and I got a huge laugh, so people tend to remember me. But I have to remember there’s only one of me and at least 200 of them. On a really high attendance day, there’s over 300.

Matt and Mark didn’t preach last week, and it was surprising how much I missed talking to them about their sermons. It makes me feel good to be “one of the club.” Matt knows that my attendance is only until I get a church of my own, and he’s doing everything he can to help me achieve that goal. It’s amazing to have someone in my corner rooting for me…. a pro that knows what he’s doing sees the fire in my belly and wants to help me do something about it. There’s nothing on earth that I want more. Preaching in a real, live brick church is just as important to me as the clicks I get online. I’ve gotten several Indian followers on Facebook this week, and it makes me happy that my ideas translate across the world.

I told Mark that my goal was to get picked up by TextWeek when I get the gumption to preach every week. I call it The Lanagan Lectionary, because I try to publish before Sunday morning, therefore, I am easily Google-able for preachers in a pinch. I am certain that I have preached in congregations all over the world from people who have cribbed me. I’m not bothered about that. Steal all you want. All preaching steals from others’ ideas. If you hit the ball out of the park, no one asks about the brand of the ball.

Preaching online is interesting because I have a repository of ideas that I can reuse, plagiarizing from myself. I want to major in Advent and minor in Lent (that was a joke). Doing pretty well with Advent this year, even though it starts with apocalyptic text and dials down through the period. They are the hardest to relate to people and I trip on what to say about them. It’s easier to skip them and focus on the Gospel. The red letters are the easist.

I feel like I really understand where Jesus is coming from, because we are so alike in personality. He has to be solitary to be an amazing preacher. He wants children to be a much a part of the vision as adults. In short, he is one cool dude. Hipster Jesus is my favorite Jesus. He’s just so Portland it hurts.

Speaking of which, I saw a hipster Santa picture that made me laugh. It said, “I only deliver organic coal.”

I forgot to wear my Portand Timbers jersey today. They won the MLS cup and I am so proud and hurting that I’m not there to celebrate. I never got to sit with The Timbers Army at a game, and it’s a life goal. However, going to Portland is not. Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt. It’s got a bridge on it rather than a bird.

I would rather spend my money on the friends from Portland that can’t afford a trip to DC. One of these days, I’m going to get Volfe and Bryn out here for fun and “shelanagans” (see what I did there?). It’s another life goal to walk arm-in-arm with Bryn on The Mall.

And on that note, I have to run for the train. Love you miss you mean it. Have a good day at work! I will.

Right now I am doing restoration on my iPhone and iPad, because I have no idea what is causing it to fill up so fast. I think it’s that podcasts are being automatically downloaded in the background, so I switched to Stitcher Radio for them. I can just download the one I want to listen to on the Metro instead of downing them all. I also re-downloaded the U2 album that comes with the iPhone, because it’s not automatically installed anymore. I could listen to it over and over, and I do. The Miracle of Joey Ramone is a great song, no matter how mad people got over the “wasted space.” I am also fond of “Every Breaking Wave.” I suppose that if Apple wants to take up space on your iPhone, U2 wasn’t a bad way to do it. I remember that there used to be a U2-themed iPod, as well. Really regretting the decision not to get one of those……….

I need to go shopping after work, and I really don’t want to. I hate the crowds of people, and I’d rather just come home and crash. However, I am running out of basics like milk, and Lord knows I need that. A chai does not happen without it. Neither does macaroni and cheese. I am really stuck in that “social interaction needed to maintain isolation” hole. I don’t have time to go to the grocery store when the crowds are at a minimum. Even with Klonopin on board, I am not the best in a crowd-like situation unless people I know are involved. When I get into crowds, I tend to suit up and the hilarious mask comes out, but it doesn’t really feel like my authentic self. It feels like The Leslie Lanagan Show.™ She is someone that is likable and friendly, while on the inside I am trying my dead-level best to escape. I haven’t found a way to be my authentic self in a crowd, but it’s coming. I’m just not there yet. It’s one of the parts I miss about being married to Dana, because she ran interference extraordinarily well and knew the exact moment when I was done. There is only so much togetherness I can take.

I have so much going on in my head because of my ADHD that it’s hard to process my own thoughts, much less take in anyone else’s simultaneously. It’s too many browser windows open, because my sensory perception is so high. I would rather be lost in my own head in the privacy of my own room. I am insular to a fault, literally. The pendulum has swung too far, and I find myself actively avoiding social interaction, except with the people closest to me. Maybe this is normal as you age, and maybe it’s not. Whatever it is, I don’t like it. Going out and doing things just feels like a gargantuan task instead of a minor hassle.

I am glad that I share my office with only one other person. I’ve said it before, but I just become more and more grateful every day. There’s not really any noise, so when I’m working on something, I can focus just as well as I can at home. Alert Logic was an open office plan, and it made me crazier than I already am, which is saying a lot. 😉 Aaron says it’s gotten even busier since I left, which makes me even more grateful to be in a quiet office in a quiet neighborhood. The only thing that ever interrupts me is the cracking and popping of the tin roof when it expands and contracts.

I forgot my headphones today, and I wish I hadn’t. At least when I get my laptop, I’ll have speakers. I need something to interrupt the quiet, like playing Ray Lynch quietly as I work. I’m coding today, which makes me extraordinarily happy. It’s quiet work that will yield visually sumptuous results, which is right up my alley. I’m learning a lot about e-mail marketing and how to catch your eye when you open it….. eight-by-ten color glossy pictures with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back.

It’s interesting telling people what kind of job I got, because in the first few seconds their eyes glaze over. Apparently, nerding out is insular as well. Actually, I can explain what I do better to my youth group than I can my own age group, because they grew up in the age of coding and a lot of them are doing it themselves in school. If I ever have questions, I have several resources on Sunday nights. It’s a cool feeling, watching them make their way in the world.

Last night, someone mentioned me being single and I said, “yes. I am single and I don’t have any children. I find it easier to have other people’s children.” One of the moms said, “it’s always nice to have a place to drop them back off.” My sentiments exactly. However, one of the littlest girls in the children’s choir had a solo on Sunday and my ovaries exploded.

I have gotten over my fuzziness from my sleeping medication, probably because I was able to down two cups of coffee in record time because it was cold. I make a full pot, turn the heat off immediately, and set it out to cool. Then, I take the carafe upstairs. I drink it black with no sugar if it’s cold. Therefore, no calories and extremely refreshing.

It gets me going for the day, but I try not to overdo it. No amount of sleeping medication will put me out if I drink too much caffeine, a lesson learned over and over………….. You’d think I wouldn’t forget, but I do.

In fact, I’m going to chance it and have a cup right now. You know that thing I was saying about not being fuzzy anymore? I think I just felt another wave. Maybe it’s the Sudafed. Whatever it is, I’m going to get rid of it.

I need to restore my hardware.

I have about 15 minutes before I need to leave, so I hope something brilliant comes out before then. I’m not so sure. I’m fully dressed and I look ok from the outside, but my brain is still fuzzy from the sleeping pill I took last night to ensure I got to bed on time. I am engrossed in Covert Affairs, and the temptation to watch “just one more” is strong in this one. I decided it was better to be a little fuzzy when I woke up than it was to accidentally lose track of time by hitting “play next episode.” I know me. We’ve met.

I’m drinking cold Starbucks Christmas blend and slowly the fuzz is wearing off as I make the preparations for beginning my day. Backpack is together, I’ve had a shower, and I am contemplating breakfast… although I don’t know about that because I am not actually hungry. I rarely am early in the morning. I know I need to eat breakfast, but at the same time, it’s hard to shove food in my face when my whole body is rejecting the thought. Just about the only thing I will eat whether I am hungry or not is an Egg McMuffin, which reminds me that I need to go and get the stuff to make them. Making them at home is much more fun, because I put Sriracha and apricot jelly on them.

Today I think I will grab a granola bar on the way out and just be done with it. Tomorrow, maybe some Egg-os. What could be more Chrissmassy than waffles? I’ll take mine with extra butter. Bonus points if you got that reference (Thank you, Herb) 😛

I watched Doctor Who yesterday and the Internet was all “this is so touching” and I was all like “this is so boring.” I am not a fan of Capaldi. I have tried so hard to like him. SO. HARD. But Matt Smith left such a gaping hole in his absence. I’m just ready for The Doctor to be fun again. Capaldi is kind of a grouchy old man, and while that is not out of character for him, the “baby giraffe in a bow tie” had me straight trippin,’ boo. Cool points out the window. Bonus points if you get THAT reference.

I am also not a fan of Clara, and I’m glad that she’s moved on. There are so many companions I’ve liked more, and no one could replace the gaping hole left in my heart when Amy & Rory left, either. The scene where Amy has to choose between her husband and her best friend leaves me in a weird place. You’ve read this web site. We’ve met.

Last night was youth group and the kids’ Christmas party. The funniest moment of the evening, and I can’t remember how it came up, is that Mark (pastor of Takoma Park Pres, the church we share youth group with) said, “You know Jason Moran? Can I touch you?” I haven’t seen him in over 20 years, but yes. He was a senior when I was a freshman, and he was outstanding even then…. one of those musicians you knew would hit it big because his raw talent shined even as a kid. For those not in the know, Jason is probably the most famous for writing the score to the movie Selma.

And on that note, my 15 minutes are up.

What I Know for Sure is that my heart clenched when I realized it was Diane’s birthday as I woke up. At family Christmases with Diane and Susan, no Christmas decorations could go up until then. 😉 Her birthday parties were always fun and filled with laughter, and I’m glad that I got to experience them. I choose to focus on the light she brought into my life because if I focus on the darkness, I go into this space that only I know. It’s scary and dense with emotions that I don’t want to feel, so I don’t. It’s too hard and too messy to contemplate. I would rather see her in my mind’s eye as the young woman, just a girl and her guitar, singing Jesu Bambino to a packed house that I met when I was a kid and my eyes were wide with wonder… so simple and beautiful it brought tears to my eyes. The rest is locked away, and only Sarah (my therapist) has a key.

Leave it alone. Don’t touch it. Call an adult.

What I Know for Sure is that when I was walking home today, a carload of kids in my youth group passed me and yelled “HI MS. LESLIE!” as they went by and my heart overflowed with joy. I smiled bigger than I have in a long time, and those feelings carried me. The weight on my shoulders melted away and I, in that moment, was perfectly happy. There are really no words for how amazing my kids are. It feels good to give back, both to my community and my church.

What I Know for Sure is that feeling of safety and security that letting go provides me. There is hope and promise all over it. Moving forward, one step at a time, is the best work I’ve ever done. It challenges me to be better than I was the day before, and what that means to me is a moving point on the z-axis of life.

What I Know for Sure is that I am succeeding in my quest to become the dreams I have for myself. I am reaching up………….

Floor to feet, feet to head, head to God.

And, as always, praying on the spaces in between.

Amen.

The way people shop for babies today is, in a lot of ways, a reflection of what Christmas has become. Millions of babies have been born and have thrived without wipe warmers, which, you can argue with me here but I believe is one of the more superfluous things on a needs list. I’m not a parent, so of course my frame of reference is different. But it stands to reason that there are still babies being born without them that thrive because they are not caught up in the American consumerism driven by “the baby crazy.” The baby crazy is real and it’s deep. In-laws are particularly good at it with their need to one-up the other in terms of gifts. However, the baby is happy with clean clothes, diapers, and perhaps gnawing on your phone (or your finger). The baby is happy with a simple layette.

But we prepare for both holidays, the coming of the Christ child and the coming of our own, in a critical mass of “buy ALL THE THINGS.” Or perhaps it wasn’t that much different in Jesus’ day. I mean, what on earth would a baby want with gold, frankincense, and myrrh? Perhaps frankincense and myrrh are the modern-day wipe warmer. Gold would at least have ensured Jesus’ safe passage home because Joseph and Mary would have had the money to buy all the things they needed to carry a baby on the road. Gold would have been the layette in this scenario, because it was a concrete thing that the baby would actually need in order to survive. Without money, Mary and Joseph would have had to rely on the kindness of strangers to provide for them. Gold gave them the security to provide for themselves and make the trip home more comfortable. It would have been interesting to see what they bought with it……. what the mother and father of a savior bought for their kid as if it was any different than what we would buy for our own. I mean, they already knew their kid was special. Did they treat him any differently? There are so many questions that the Gospel does not answer, like how the gold was used.

In today’s Old Testament reading from Malachi, we are given these words:

For he is like a refiner’s fire and like fullers’ soap; he will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver, and he will purify the descendants of Levi and refine them like gold and silver, until they present offerings to the LORD in righteousness. Then the offering of Judah and Jerusalem will be pleasing to the LORD as in the days of old and as in former years.

Perhaps the message of the Gospel is not that Joseph and Mary had physical gold, but that Jesus was the gold. The Jews were hoping that someone would come to save them from their incredible misery at having been kicked out of their homeland and exiled by the Babylonians. We see through the prophets that Jesus fits the description. He is a shoot from Jesse’s tree, a direct descendant of King David, whom the Jews held up as their last great leader. They were convinced that if they could find someone like him, God would be pleased enough to deliver them from their distress. The Gospel writers were sure that Jesus was the answer to their prayers, given the words on a page that turned into “Jesus’s baby pictures.” Jesus was  the winning lottery ticket for that sect of Judaism, and it is what separates Christians from modern-day Jews. We believe that we have found the Messiah that the prophets said would come. Other sects of Judaism are still waiting. This is not to pass judgment; everyone can believe what they want. It is just to illustrate why we are different, not to call anyone out.

In order to fulfill the prophecy, Jesus had to go through his own refining moments. In order to become the temperer, he had to be tempered. He got offers from Satan that tempted him and he had to resist… and how is this any different from the hell we create for ourselves today? The point of sending a savior into the world as a human baby was that Jesus could experience what it was like to be fallible and have all of our own flaws and insecurities. He had to distill himself from hundred dollar baby booties and wipe warmers into a layette. He had to distill himself from frankincense and myrrh into a gold that could provide not only for his own family, but for ours.

Luke says this in no less than six different ways. Ever the doctor, his joy was in pragmatic proof and not touchy-feely mysticism. He is the only of the Gospel writers to include a formal introduction, and in today’s reading, it is the proof he thinks everyone needs to accept that Jesus is IT. Jesus is the distillation of hope and joy that we need to be saved from our own iniquities.

He starts with setting Jesus into a Palestinian history.

In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius

Tiberius was the Roman emperor in power, like the President of the United States.

when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea

Similar to the governor of Maryland in terms of political structure.

Herod was ruler of Galilee

Similar to a mayor.

his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis

Also similar to a mayor.

Lysanias was the ruler of Abilene

Also similar to a mayor. These three regions comprise what is known as the “tetrarch.”

during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas

Caiaphas was the high priest, taking over for Annas. We can compare them to modern-day bishops. However, Annas was no less politically involved in the Sanhedrin, the ruling body of the Jews. Think of how much George H.W. Bush influences his sons to get the picture.

the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness

Ahh, here we go. Now we transition from all these powerful rulers into a nobody… an itinerant preacher lost in the woods most of the time.

To me, this proves that God does not call the powerful and mighty (most of the time. King David was a badass.), but the disenfranchised and broken. People that were tempered into greatness rather than starting out that way. People who, by all accounts, did not fit the image that, well, anyone would expect. In this season of Advent, we are called to temper ourselves. To wait for the Christ child by turning into the darkness and seeing how much light we can shine into it, bringing forth our own greatness as we tear away all that stops us.

It is never a command by God or by Jesus. It is an invitation. In these moments, I turn to John, the Gnostic Gospel. It is, for all practical intents and purposes, the Gospel where God is felt rather than known. It is the difference between seeing God with your eyes and seeing God with your heart.

This is the verdict: Light has come into the world, but people loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil.

Believing in the power that Christ’s light has to offer is acknowledging that as a fallible people, we are attracted to the darkness that hides our sins instead of the light that releases them.

It is a slow, painful tempering process that does not take one Advent of your life, but all of them. To accept light is not one-stop shopping. It is the purchase of the layette rather than the wipe warmer for as long as you are alive. In modern terms, it would go something like this:

In the year 2015, when Barack Obama was the president, and Larry Hogan was the governor of Maryland, and Muriel Bowser was the mayor of DC, and Michael Curry was the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church, and the dean of National Cathedral was The Very Reverend Gary Hall, God called you.

You.

Buy the layette. Give the baby what he needs. It might not change Jesus, but it will certainly change you.

Amen.

I got to text a bit with Pri-Diddy this morning, and I said, “who knew that writing words was so hard?” I was talking about writing content for Advent. Writing words is hard, especially when you’re writing for as broad a theological spectrum as my audience attracts. Everyone from Evangelicals to Social Justice die-hards, the category to which I belong and yet, try not to exclude the other side. In taking the Bible seriously, but not literally, I see a galaxy of images not available to me anywhere else in my life. They are pictures that mold me into a new creation one step at a time, as long as I interpret the words of Jesus into what I think he meant… which, fortunately for me, a lot of people think the same way I do so that I know I’m not coming out of left field with allegories that preach, but do not reflect. It’s the difference between measured, well-conceived responses to scripture based upon thousands of years of exegesis and not molding the Gospel to fit my own ideas of what it should be……… or in other words, just making shit up.

The Bible is what it is.

However, prevenient grace that passes all understanding is not necessarily shown to me through Christ himself, but the people around me who practice it. Harry Emerson Fosdick, former pastor of the historic Riverside Church in Manhattan, once said that every good sermon must either begin in Jerusalem and end in New York, or begin in New York and end in Jerusalem. I see my friends and family the same way. They are walking examples that I can tie back to my understanding of how grace works. For me, they begin every good sermon that ties back to the way Christ’s grace does not follow us, but is ensured by going before. There is nothing we can do to separate ourselves from the safe haven Christ has to offer, but we are so human we attempt it, anyway. They are the people that for me, begin in New York.

I hold up my dad and Argo as examples of this kind of grace. They have both struggled for years over things that I’ve done and things that I have left undone, but there has been nothing that has separated me from them. They offer me grace even when I don’t deserve it. Argo and I may not have a working relationship, but at the same time, grace overflowed when I did something so wrong that I cringe at the memory of it and yet, hate did not win out. Grace did. How you exit a relationship is every bit as important as how you begin one.

I have such a clear picture of how grace works when I think of them. Their grace allows me to see how big mine can get. When I get angry with people, how quickly can I forgive and let grace flow from me? How quickly can I get past the hurt and into the idea that there is nothing they could do that would separate them from my love and care, the way it was shown to me?

In this season of Advent, I am looking at myself and how the mess I’ve made can turn to clay. We’ll talk more about that as I write my Advent sermon for this week, because the Old Testament reading is about tempering fire, the same idea as the beautiful Joan Szymko setting in the link.

One of the most profound things I’ve ever heard my dad say was when my stepsister (mother of Wi-Phi) asked my dad to do her wedding. He talked about wedding rings being tempered by fire just like marriages. I cried at that one, because holding Dana’s hand, I knew it was true.

It is my work to do, this getting rid of an enormous thunderstorm of emotion surrounding being divorced from someone that I thought would be the love of my life, and in a lot of ways, still is. The fight(s) over Argo being the “other woman” were ridiculous, because that passing infatuation was not reality. Love, grace, and mercy were the things I wanted from both relationships, that they would settle and make room for each other in my life. Infatuation passes, while love does not.

I have let go of the people in my life who thought it was crazy to feel this much for someone I’ve never seen, only heard…. and even then, only through her words and never her voice. Words on a page have power, and those who doubt it are the crazy ones. I could see more of Argo through black and white words than I could glean from a hundred cups of coffee. She let me into places within herself that couldn’t be duplicated in any other way. It was sacred through the sacrament of sitting and writing out thoughts, beliefs, and hope for the future. Through words, we had our own tempering fire. I believe I learned more through her anger, in some instances, than I learned from her ever-present well of joy.

When we “clicked off safe” and gutter sniped, they were direct hits on things that needed to change. I learned a new term from the TV show Covert affairs. On the show, when people are given sensitive information, it’s called “reading you in.” It is the perfect analogy for letting Argo into my heart. I read her in, even when words were hard, mmmmmkay………………..

Praying on the spaces.

Waiting for the baby.

Awaiting all that tempering fire has to offer.

Amen.