Having Its Way With Us

I love December. The way the sun stays low in the sky, the temperatures fall and darkness descends early, and the reminder that the year isn’t over yet. Yes, a new year looms over the horizon, but this one isn’t done with us yet.

This year, perhaps more than any other, we’ve discovered so much about ourselves. The good, the bad, and even—or especially—the ugly. These final days of the year are ones in which to take stock and decide what to do with what we’ve been given. And, when the time comes to turn the page on a new year, know what to bring with us, and what to leave behind.

The year 2020 has been one for the books, and there are still 31 days for this year to have its way with us. May we end this last chapter well.

Advent 2020: A Season of Opposites

Advent is a season of anticipation and expectation. My faith tradition marks the four Sundays of Advent by lighting four candles, each symbolizing a different theme. While there are slight variations, four that are quite common among many denominations are hope, peace, joy, and love. This past Sunday we lit the first Advent candle.

If ever we were in need of hope, it is now.

And yet, the pandemic rages on and the race for a vaccine is far from over.

If ever we were in need of peace, it is now.

And yet, the battle for the better angels of our collective nature rages on.

If ever we were in need of joy, it is now.

And yet, the days grow shorter and the nights longer, shrouding our outer world with the same darkness that threatens our inner light.

If ever we were in need of love, it is now.

And yet, we must choose loneliness over love as we cannot gather with those we love the most because we love them the most.

We light an Advent candle to symbolize the hope of better days to come and the despair of how long it might take for them to get here. Both are true.

We light an Advent candle to symbolize the peace that passes all understanding and the battles that make no sense. Both are true.

We light an Advent candle to symbolize joy to world and the sorrow that is engulfing it. Both are true.

We light an Advent candle to symbolize the love that is all around us and the loneliness because those we love are not. Both are true.

Advent 2020 is as much a season of opposites as it is of anticipation. Hope and despair, peace and strife, joy and sorrow, love and loneliness.

We light the candles, because both are true.

(With gratitude to Pastor Laura Robinson)

Mox-Nix

When faced with two options, my sister often replies, “Mox Nix”. It comes from the German es macht nichts, and originated with American soldiers stationed in Germany after WWII. The gist of the term is that it really doesn’t matter, or it isn’t that important.

I’ve always loved the term, and how the words feel rolling off my tongue.

If 2020 has taught us anything, it is that there are things that matter, and things that don’t. We’ve also learned, or perhaps, remembered, how little is under our control, and we don’t like that. We’d rather have our hands firmly at the helm thank you, and when we can’t, we get scared, grab for control wherever we can get it, and pick battles that don’t matter with the people that do. .

We want what we want, and we want it now. But there is little joy in such victories, and while we may get what we want, rarely do we get what we need.

Mox Nix can help with that.

A Picnic In The Storm

My ninth-birthday plans included skipping school to go to The Portland Zoo with my best friend, followed by my favorite dinner—broiled flank steak, baked potatoes, birthday cake and ice cream. Perfect plans for my birthday docket.

Then The Columbus Day Storm of 1962 hit the Pacific Northwest. It was the most powerful extratropical cyclone recored in the U.S. in the 20th century. 46 people died, and hundreds were injured. If your home wasn’t damaged, you were the exception. The cost of damages in Oregon alone were estimated to be more than 200 million in 1962 dollars. Few if any escaped this storm unscathed in some way.

We were at the zoo when the wind started to blow, wind that would eventually top 100 mph. Running for the car we passed an exhibit where large birds were being tossed into the air like bean bags. Driving home I remember seeing a mop fly in front of our car, and tall trees crashing across the road out our rear window. We made it home just in the nick of time. The power went out, the wind howled, trees toppled in our yard, broken branches blew against the windows, and the huge black walnut tree in our back yard bent nearly in half over our roof. Thankfully it stood strong, or I might not be writing this today.

On that dark and stormy night, my biggest concern as a little nine year old girl wasn’t for the damage being done outside as the winds ravaged cities up and down the West coast, or the safety of those caught in the cross-hairs of the storm. It was, of course, for my birthday plans that had been blown to smithereens.

Now I loved the zoo. But what I really loved was flank steak. Prepared just the way my mom made it, there was nothing better. Marinate it for several hours, spread Dijon mustard on it, put it under the broiler, and don’t, under any circumstances, overcook it. (If it turns out anything but rare, you might as well throw it out and start over.) Slice it thin and serve it up with baked potatoes oozing with butter.

No electricity? No flank steak and baked potatoes oozing with butter.

No flank steak and baked potatoes oozing with butter? No birthday dinner.

No birthday dinner? No birthday.

Mom saw it a little differently..

No power to broil the steak or bake the potatoes? No problem. Out came an old-school hibachi, hot dogs, and potatoes chips. We ate my birthday dinner by candlelight, sitting on a checkered table cloth on the floor in front of the fire.

That was the night I first remember watching my mom do one of the things she did best. She made a picnic in the storm, literally. Time and again, she brought us together, made something good out of something bad, and created beauty in the midst of almost any mess, leaving a legacy that every one of us can live into today.

The gale force winds of 2020 show little sign of abating. There have been over a quarter of a million deaths, and 12.5 million cases in the United States, and it isn’t over yet. The economic fallout is hard to fathom, and few if any will come out of this year unscathed. If ever we needed to learn to make a picnic in a pandemic storm, it is now, and this holiday season, as difficult, devastating, and disappointing as it might be, is a place to start.

Whether it means huddling together outdoors around a fire pit, setting a place for one or two using our best china, cooking treasured family recipes and making extra to pass across the fence to our neighbor, supporting our local restaurants by ordering takeout, or lifting a glass around our separate tables over Zoom, anytime we can find the will to make a picnic in this storm, we are smoothing the way through a rough patch in our shared history.

The year before my ninth birthday and The Columbus Day Storm

I know, I was already a fashion icon.

No Laughing Matter

“A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones.”

— Proverbs 17:22 KJV

Today, I feel great, as in awesome. I haven’t felt this good, this upbeat, this happy, in, well, in since I can’t remember when. And it’s not because vaccines for the Coronavirus have gotten FDA approval and are being widely distributed. It isn’t because the current president has graciously conceded defeat and authorized a peaceful transfer of power. Nor is it because I can hug my family and friends with abandon, gather together around a table to share a meal, or see fewer wrinkles when I look in the mirror.

None of those things have happened.

And it’s not because the Seattle Seahawks beat the Arizona Cardinals Thursday night. Which did happen. (Well, maybe that helped just a little.)

It took me awhile to figure out why I woke up on the bright side of the bed, which isn’t how I normally roll. It turned out to be pretty simple.

It was laughter. Laughter was the magic sauce that brightened my day and lightened my load.

Last night just before crawling into bed I received a text from one of our daughters about our four and a half month old grand-boy. His bedtime routine includes feeding him just before he goes to bed. Last night he stopped nursing, looked up at his mom and just started laughing. And couldn’t quit. He just laughed, and laughed, and laughed some more. He was , she texted, like a little person who just found out how good laughing feels.

Drifting off to sleep, just thinking about that little happy-to-his-toes-boy laughing, made me laugh.

This morning over my first cup of coffee in the pre-dawn dark on our porch, I watched a Taylor Calmus, aka dudedad, story.

It.

Was.

Hilarious.

I couldn’t stop laughing. (Do yourself a favor and watch it— maybe more than once.)

Yesterday ended with laughter. Today started with it. Psychology Today suggests that laughter can boost our immune system and our mood, lower anxiety, help us release tension, and foster resilience. Sounds like good medicine to me.

Life is no laughing matter right now.

Which is exactly why laughing matters more than ever.

Photo by Rodolfo Quirós from Pexels

Whose Business Is It?

The day I created #ThePostcardProject, I felt excited and hopeful. Energized, I got to work bringing what felt like an inspired idea to life.

The day I decided to launch #ThePostcardProject, I started to feel silly and uncertain, anxious and afraid, self-conscious and small.

What if nobody thought it was a good idea?

What if no one else got on board, and I was the only one to actually do it?

What if #ThePostcardProject never got any traction? Never went anywhere? Never got noticed?

The more I marinated in those familiar feelings that show up whenever it’s time to actually put something I’ve created into the world, the more stymied I became. It was just about then that God leaned in close and whispered, “That’s none of your business Molly.” In other words, all I had to do was get about my business.

Byron Katie reminds us that there are only three kinds of business in the world—my business, your business, and God’s business. Bringing an idea to life and sharing it with the world is my business. What anyone else does with that idea is their business. And where it goes from here, is God’s business.

We never know what will happen when we offer something to the world. That’s none our business. Offering what we have to share is.

Do you have an idea waiting to come to life?

Then please, get about your business.

#ThePostcardProject

On November 6th, I posted a blog titled Dear Us.

I wrote it as a way of passing the time as the election results were still coming in. I knew that regardless of the outcome, there is serious work to be done if we are to redeem our democracy. And yes, it is work to be done by our elected officials, but if there is any hope of success, it is work that must be done by all of us.

In that blog I imagined sending a handwritten postcard to every member of Congress, calling on them to stop blaming those across the proverbial aisle and start working together for the common good. Because that is what I want them to do. I believe the majority of Americans want them to do that too.

Walking down our road the next morning my husband said, “Mol, we should do it. We should handwrite postcards to all 535 members of Congress. I also think you should do something with this idea.”

And with those words, #ThePostcardProject was born.

The idea is to get as many people as possible, from all across the country and the political spectrum to send a clear message to Congress. Stop blaming each other and start working together to build a country that works for all of us. Period.

Today I am inviting you to not only join me in my efforts, but to invite as many others as you can to join in as well. Ask friends. Ask family. Ask neighbors and co-workers, teachers and students, athletic teams and faith communities. Ask any and everyone you can.

The time to come together as a country is now, and #ThePostcardProject is one way to start.

Will you join me?

Fruitful

Let’s just put this one to rest—life is hard. No two ways about it. While it isn’t necessarily hard all the time or every day, over the long haul there is plenty of hard to go around.

For example:

The other night Tom and I went to bed at odds with each other. That doesn’t happen very often, but when it does, I hate it. We both do. Neither of us had the capacity to deal with it, which meant we had to sleep with it. As I turned over, and closed my eyes, a thought occurred to me. May it be fruitful.

The next morning on the porch in the cold pre-dawn darkness we sat with our coffee, trying to make sense of what had happened. It was a hard, emotional, and painful conversation. It wasn’t fun. I cried a lot. It took listening on both of our parts, and eventually we found our way back to each other.

The fruit of that hard thing was that we discovered how to be better partners to each other.

Life is harder than ever right now. For me, and for the people I love, and most of the time there isn’t much we can do for one another other than to listen and bear witness to the hard. That, and pray that whatever it is will bear good fruit. That we will lean into the pain, or the fear, or the conflict, or the anxiety, or the anger, or the loneliness, or the grief, and turn it into something fruitful.

Nothing else makes sense.

Because the only thing that makes something hard even harder is when it doesn’t bear fruit.

Waiting Is Hard Work

I’m not much of a rafter. In fact, if I never raft again that would be ok with me.

The few times that I have put on my life jacked, climbed into a raft, and headed down a river, one of the most interesting parts of the experience is when preparing to run another set of rapids. An experienced rafter holds the raft back, paddling and maneuvering against the current to get the boat into the best position to successfully navigate the water ahead. The challenge comes from the constant pull of the current trying to carry the raft forward.

It is a waiting game that takes patience, skill, and hard work. The payoff is that when the time comes to head back into the rapids, those in the raft are ready for the ride.

We are in the waiting game of our lives right now.

The pandemic, which feels like it might never end, is only heating up as the temperatures outside go down. As much as we all long to gather around tables again with friends and families, worship together in our houses of worship, cheer for our favorite teams in packed stadiums, send our children back to school free and unencumbered, frequent our favorite bars and restaurants, join together to honor and celebrate important events, and hug with abandon, we must wait.

The final results of a contentious election, while clear to the many, are being muddied and held up by the few. As much as we’d like to put this all behind us and get on with the hard work of building a country that works for all of us, we must wait.

The economy is at a standstill while our need to support ourselves and our families marches on. As much as we would like for everyone to return to work and get back to business, we must wait.

Waiting can feel like we are doing nothing.

Don’t fall for that notion.

Waiting is not meant to be passive.

Waiting is active, and it takes patience, skill, and hard work.

Like preparing to run the rapids, now is the time to maneuver against the current in order to put ourselves in the best position to navigate the waters ahead. Rapids we’ve never encountered before await us, and now is the time to ready ourselves for the ride.

Learn what can only be learned during this time of waiting.

Discover what can only be discovered during this time of waiting.

Develop the skills that can only be developed during this time of waiting.

When tempted to let go and get back into the flow of life again, let’s hold fast. Let’s do the hard work of waiting. The payoff is that when the time comes to head back into the rapids, we will be ready for the ride.

Changing Lanes

It might be an overstatement to say that feelings drive my car, but not much of one.

If life were a three lane highway, it is safe to say that I live most of mine in the feeling lane. Yes, I can switch lanes and drive in the thinking or doing lanes, but my default is always feelings first, everything else later. This can make for a tumultuous ride, and at no time has this been more evident than this turbulent year.

When my emotions are of what are typically considered the positive ones, my energy is good. I’m motivated to get things done, can find causes for hope even when things look bleak, and am pretty damn good company to those around me. When overtaken by the darker ones, not so much.

There are three lanes for a reason, and I need to make use of all of them. To lean into thinking and step into doing.

We all have our preferred lane, and can easily fall into our typical patterns of thinking, feeling, or doing. When we find ourselves on auto-pilot, maybe it’s time to change lanes.