For the first 12 years or so of our marriage we had a real tree. I wanted our family to have that quintessential New England experience of singing carols while riding a horse-drawn carriage into the tree fields, cutting down the perfect tree and bringing it home to decorate before a cozy fire. I so firmly believed in my Hallmark Christmas Special fantasy that it took me 12 years to finally wake up and admit what tree shopping was truly like for this cold-weather-loathing family of perfectionist chiefs.
Let me paint you a little picture:
First we bundle everyone up in coats, snow pants, hats, gloves, scarves & boots. Then we squeeze into car seats and seatbelts even though it’s now hard to breathe properly. After arriving at the farm, we ride in a noisy, exhaust-emitting, tractor-drawn wagon that drops us off in a seemingly endless field of trees. Two hours later, after trudging through the snow from one tree to another to another to another, someone asks, through chattering teeth, to look at the first tree again.(That person is probably me.) Of course, we can’t actually find the first tree but we try anyway.
Once we finally do choose a tree, we strap it on the car, drive home and cut the trunk so that the 10 foot tall tree we bought will actually fit beneath our seven-foot high ceilings. We then wrestle the tree into the house, struggle to make it stand up straight, fill the stand with sugar-water while trying to convince the cat not to drink said water and vacuum up all the pine-needles. After all that, we explain to the children that, no, we can’t decorate the tree yet because we must wait 24 hours for the branches to “settle,” whatever that means. (Come to think of it, that sounds a little like the kind of excuse exhausted parents might make up in order to give themselves a break before hanging ornaments. Mom? Jeb?)
Not quite the Hallmark Special I had in mind. Though, when considering the quality of Hallmark Specials, maybe we weren’t that far off.
Well, a few years ago my mother offered me her beautiful artificial tree. (She has vacillated between artificial and fake trees over the years.) I am not exaggerating when I tell you that this tree is the most realistic looking artificial tree I have ever laid eyes on. Seriously, ask my friends. The tree is so realistic it’s like its own little Christmas miracle. And she bought this woodless wonder at…wait for it…K-Mart!
So while the naturalist snob in me balked at having a tree that needed to be put together, the thought of spending another year in tree farm perdition propelled me to say “YES!”
And you know what? My kids get can’t wait to put the silly, plastic thing together!
They’re getting kind of big aren’t they? | Photo by nicholeq.wordpress.com
It takes all of about 30 minutes and then we’re ready to decorate. (After I string the lights, that is.) And I love this tree. I absolutely love our K-mart, snap-together tree. And you know what? Having an artificial tree is a lot less stressful than trying to reach some artificial, unattainable Christmas ideal. That goes for horse-drawn carriage rides or Who-roast-beast or finding mom the perfect gift.
So if you have some traditions you’re hanging onto because that’s just the way it’s always been or because, like me, you have some artificial idea about what Christmas should look like, don’t be afraid to let go.
Set yourself free! Try something new you’ve always wanted to do or wait before God with an open hand and see what He has in store for you.
Warning: When starting a new tradition, consider the consequences.
When our first daughter was still our only daughter, I had this grand idea to start an advent calendar. I crafted together (translation: it didn’t involve sewing) a fabric wall hanging with a large cross made of 24 two-inch square pockets.
Then I filled each pocket with a 5¢, 10¢ or 25¢ trinket (a sticker, a plastic car, a bracelet). Every morning in December, my preschooler would wake up, run to the calendar and pull out a surprise. She loved it!
I, however, failed to anticipate that this tradition would morph into something a bit more complex and a lot more expensive when (a) we had more children and (b) those children were no longer interested in stick-on earrings from Party City.
Things started to unravel, quite literally, when the wall-hanging began to fall apart. Just as my glue gun rescue flopped, I found, at the Christmas Tree Shops, a wooden, hand-painted calendar with little compartments and swinging doors for only $25. Which could be a good thing, or not, depending on your perspective.
As the girls got older, the little bitty gifts became harder to find and more expensive too!
I know, I know, Christmas isn’t about the gifts or having fun or keeping traditions. Yes, yes, Advent Conspiracy and radical living and turn your Christmas upside down and all that. But toss it! We really like this tradition and we are keeping it, so there!!!
My first compromise was to offset the cost of more expensive trinkets by filling half of the compartments with candy. (If you get on my case about sugar and trading one evil for another, I will hurt you. So just stop. Desperate times, my friend. Desperate times!) Not only does this save money, but grabbing a bag of Hershey Kisses takes far less time than tracking down 12 miniature presents.
I also make a point to include things the girls actually need (that is “need” in the first world sense, of course), like sticky notes and hair ties; thus not wasting money on useless junk that just ends up in the trash.
I know some of you are squirming in your seats and you want to know: Do I ever worry about obscuring Christmas’s big message? Or that I’m encouraging a consumer mindset? Sure I do, sometimes.
Actually, back when I worried about, well, everything, I added a Bible verse to each calendar pocket.
Scripture I found still tucked away in one of the pockets | Photo by nicholeq.wordpress.com
This assuaged my guilt for a short time…a really short time…like the first night. Because when morning came around, well…Silly Puddy or Bible verse? Chocolate or reading? I wanted to make the advent calendar more spiritual but instead I made the Bible less fun. As if the Bible doesn’t already have enough competition.
All because I had this irrational fear that my kids would grow up not knowing the true meaning of Christmas. I say irrational because what child who attends an evangelical church each Sunday, learns about baby Jesus in Sunday school, visits the local live nativity and bakes Jesus a birthday cake every year, turns to their parents at the age of maturity and asks with wide eyes, “What?! Christmas is about Jesus?!“
I got over that the day I asked my seven year old, for the 400th time, what Christmas is really about and she answered with a “Puh-leeez Mom” eye-roll while grumbling the name Jesus. Doesn’t that just warm a mother’s heart?
My kids aren’t perfect but they love Jesus and I don’t want to smother that fragile fire with my wet blanket.
Believe it or not, I didn’t give up the advent calendar. Sometimes, we Christians can be a little uptight (shocker), getting so wrapped up in “doing it right” that we suck the fun out of everything. Heaven forbid our kids start to associate our stuffiness with God!
My kids aren’t perfect but they love Jesus and I don’t want to smother that fragile fire with my wet blanket. Besides, even people who grow up with very little can develop greedy, selfish attitudes. And if that doesn’t answer your question satisfactorily, please reread paragraph six.
Now back to my point. If you want to start a new tradition, learn from my mistakes and consider the consequences. What will it look like in two, five or 15 years? Traditions are difficult to give up, especially when involving children.
Remember that one time you made potato pancakes for your kid’s birthday and the next year he was like “But you always make me potato pancakes on my birthday!” and he was like 3 and couldn’t even remember his last birthday? You get the picture.
And so begins a series of Christmas Tradition Dos & Don’ts. If you’re wondering who I am to be giving out such advice, join the club! I’m wondering the same thing. But when inspiration comes, I just gotta write it down. So Readers, thanks for humoring me!
Traditions don’t have to be traditional. That’s what my family discovered when we decided to give up the customary Christmas dinner.
When was the last time you were lying in bed on Christmas night thinking, “Man, I just didn’t have enough to eat today!”? If you’re like me, the answer is: never! We always have more food than we can eat, eat more than we should and finish the day feeling like we’ve swallowed a bowling ball.
Until about 10 years ago, our Christmas menu included something like 12 appetizers, a main course of meat, potatoes and various side dishes and about eight mouth-watering desserts. Things were getting a bit out of control. A simple solution would have been to cut out some of the appetizers and desserts, but we rather preferred the appetizers to the main meal. And no one wanted to give up dessert. So now, every year, our Christmas dinner consists of finger foods only.
Don’t be afraid to think outside the box, do something different, try something new and make it yours!
Let me tell you, in a family full of cooking (and eating) enthusiasts, we have some deeeelicious Christmas spreads. The staple foods are usually my step-father’s cheese fondue and chicken liver pate, my mom’s pepperoni bread and obligatory veggie tray, my aunt’s salsa and/or dips, and my three layer, filled peppermint bark.
Last Year’s Peppermint Bark | Photo by nicholeq.wordpress.com
My youngest brother is like a crazy, mad, food artist who never makes the same thing twice, but when he joins us we don’t complain. Because whether it’s prosciutto wrapped asparagus or feta topped watermelon cubes, we’ll be impressed. To all that, we add a variety of fun fare like miniature shish-kabobs, bacon wrapped water chestnuts, mini-quiches, pecan tassies, ooey-gooey brownies, etc., etc., etc.
It doesn’t have to be traditional it just has to be yours.
What do we love about this tradition?
As people who enjoy cooking, we get to experiment in the kitchen.
As people who enjoy eating, we get to try new foods.
Guests can come and go as they please without being restricted by a set meal time.
There’s plenty of time for exchanging gifts, visiting, playing games, whatever.
It’s ours.
That’s what’s great about any family tradition. It doesn’t have to be traditional it just has to be yours.
Some people probably dread the idea of Christmas without a formal, sit-down dinner complete with a baked ham, London broil or lasagna. For us, it seemed a little weird at first too, but in 10 years we haven’t even discussed making a change. So while our Christmas dinner is decidedly untraditional, it’s still one of our favorite traditions.
Don’t be afraid to think outside the box, do something different, try something new and make it yours!
Actually, when you really think about it, the first Christmas was pretty untraditional too. God as a Jewish baby boy. God in the arms of a dirt poor virgin girl from the slums of Nazareth. God whose angels sang before shepherds and called them to His side. God, not just a king but the King of kings, called not the lowly but the lowest of the low, shepherds, society’s outcasts, to be the first to worship Him.
If you have a minute, listen to this song and consider just how outrageous, how radical, how decidedly untraditional was that first Christmas Eve and all that would follow.
I have already written a review of the books and the first movie; check them out here and here. (In my opinion, the book review qualifies as “not to be missed.”)
Please note that I use the term “review” loosely. You will find no technical terms or expert analysis…just me, my thoughts, opinions and sometimes wacky connections to life and God.
First Impressions:
What a fantastic story. The whole concept is brilliant: a futuristic, dystopian society at the mercy of a corrupt, oppressive system that pits teenagers against each other by making them fight to the death on reality television. Brilliant! Horrifying, but brilliant!
Liked it better than the first HG movie.
Great casting! Finnick, Beetee, Maggs, Johanna, Cashmere, Gloss…almost exactly as described in the books.
Special effects significantly improved from the first movie.
So fast paced! I couldn’t believe that when the Quarter Quell finally began, there were only 45 minutes left to the movie.
Gale, Gale, Gale. I confess that if I hadn’t read the books, I would want Katniss to choose Gale. He’s just…so…Gale.
Prim. What is she, like 35 now?
Bad News First – What I Hated:
Not knowing Katniss’s internal dialogue. The books, written in the first person, allow us to understand her internal struggles, fears, doubts and hopes. Whether it’s the fault of the screenwriters, the actors, both or neither, the movie limits our ability to identify with Katniss.
Peeta is not as strong a character as he was in the books. While he comes across way better than he did in the first movie (more on that here) he’s still too feminine and puppy-doggish towards Katniss for my taste.
The failure to develop Katniss and Peeta’s relationship on-screen. Maybe no one could figure out a good way to transition back and forth between the story’s fierce intensity and its deep, sometimes painful, tenderness. (Except in the case of Rue.) And I guess that if one side of the story had to be sacrificed, this was the way to go. Otherwise, you run the risk of making just another sappy, teenage love story.
But in the books, the relationship between Katniss and Peeta illustrates of the running theme that hope is the only thing stronger than fear. Because the only thing that conquers Katniss – a wounded girl, walled off from love and driven by fear – is Peeta – the boy with the bread, the dandelion in the spring, the embodiment of hope. Many things help save her life in the arenas but Peeta saves her heart.
Katniss’s mother, when tending to Gale’s wounds, is nervous and ineffectual, and Prim has to take over. Yet in the book, the mother is actually composed and competent. Perhaps this was done to demonstrate Prim’s maturity, but it was unnecessary. Anybody with one good eye can tell that Prim’s not a little girl anymore.
What They Left Out…But Shouldn’t Have:
Plutarch showing Katniss his Mockingjay watch at the party. If the goal was to keep people in the dark about his part in the revolution, well, the book’s kind of gave that away already.
When Peeta takes care of Katniss after she injures her foot and they experience “normal” life together.
When Peeta says, “My nightmares are usually about losing you…I’m okay once I realize your here.” (page 86)
Katniss & Peeta on the rooftop, watching the sunset together, a couple of days before the games.
What They Should Have Left Out…But Didn’t:
Katniss kissing Gale then kissing Peeta then Gale then Peeta then Gale then Peeta. OK, I may be exaggerating. But this is my least favorite part of Catching Fire, the book and movie. It’s so Bella-from-Twilight. Pick a man, sister. And until you do, stop kissing and holding hands and “just cuddling.” It’s bad role-modeling and selfish and just plain embarrassing!
What I Loved:
A funnier, smarter script that seemed to follow the book more closely than the first movie.
No major fails like in the first movie. (Yes, I am referring to the bread scene, the worst massacre of the first film, which given the nature of the story, says a lot.)
Peeta & Katniss’s speeches in District 11. Rue & Thresh’s families, the old man whistling the Mockingjay tune. I cried. Like a baby.
Peeta holding the morphling girl as she died, coaxing her to look at the beautiful colors in the sky until she passed.
Cinna and the Mockingjay dress. No. Explanation. Needed.
Peeta. His character is better. Funnier. Stronger. But still not taller. I will always love Peeta.
Effie. Funnier. Kinder. Human. Even likeable!
Haymitch. Still Haymitch.
Snow’s granddaughter. The perfect foil of her ruthless, evil grandfather.
Individual Assessments when Peeta painted Rue and Katniss hung an effigy of Seneca Crane.
The elevator scene. Hilarious.
Favorite Lines:
Haymitch: Nobody wins the games. Period. There are survivors. No winners.
Katniss: What can you see? Prim: Hope.
As graffiti: The odds are NEVER in our favor.
And the best line of the movie: Remember who the enemy is.
So good.
Finally, I can’t think of a better way to end this post than with the last few paragraphs of my trilogy review. (Read the whole thing here.)
Do humans universally long for…a love that sacrifices one’s self to save another? If our music, movies, plays and books are any indication, then we must… it should come as no surprise that so many people love these books…the story stirs something deep within us.
As a baker, Peeta literally feeds and nourishes people in a starving community. This, I imagine, was no accident on the author’s part because he is ultimately the one who satisfies Katniss’s deepest hunger. I can’t help but smile a little at his name, which is actually a homonym for a kind of bread eaten by millions of people the world over. But I wonder if as Collins was writing Peeta, she considered the One who truly satisfies.
We, every one of us, are part of a Hunger Game. Only this is no game. This is real.
Look around you. Think about it. Why are you here? Who’s really in control? Are you still a slave to the unseen powers of this dark world? Do you know who the real enemy is? Are you hungry? Starving for the truth? Desperate for something…or someone to satisfy your soul?
He’s out there, you know. Your Rescuer. The One who said, “I am the bread that came down from heaven” is all the food your starving soul needs.
And He’s the only chance you have of getting out of this arena alive.
Wall art in Morocco, EPCOT | Photo by nicholeq.wordpress.com
During a recent trip to Disney World, our family hunted day and night for Hidden Mickeys – symbolic representations of Mickey Mouse in the iconic three-circle shape, inserted subtly in the design of rides, attractions and artwork throughout the park. And we found them: created by white paint stains on a desk in Spaceship Earth, in the paintings along the Maharajah Jungle Trek in Animal Kingdom, as a three-dimensional object formed out of metal bands in a Living with the Land water tank, in the mosaic walls of The Coral Reef restaurant and more.
At The Coral Reef | Photo by nicholeq.wordpress.com
The only reward for discovering a Hidden Mickey is the excitement and satisfaction you experience upon finding one. And yet, in a park that offers some of the best entertainment in the world, our family couldn’t get enough of this game. We’d be zipping along on some ride and one of us would point and shout, “Hidden Mickey!” while the others craned their necks, trying to catch a glimpse of the shape before being whisked away. We were treasure hunting.
Maybe, like me, you love treasure hunting: searching for something hidden, something hard to find, or maybe even something that’s right before your eyes but if you really pay attention you realize it’s more than you thought…more than a paint stain…more than a few random pieces of metal.
Some of you may insist this desire stems from our need to hunt for food or what-not. Snore. Treasure hunting is about more than survival. It’s about finding something valuable, precious, unique or rare.
A couple of years ago, I read the book One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp. (Check out her blog aholyexperience.com.) In her book, she writes, rather poetically, about the power of thankfulness – but not in a trite “count your blessings and be happy” kind of way. By sharing from her own life journey and study of the Word, she illustrates that even in the face of great difficulty, we can find things for which to be thankful. And that in gratitude, there lies great power…power to release, heal, transform…because “thanksgiving…always precedes the miracle.” (p.35)
Her book inspired me to begin my own gratitude journal, writing down things for which I am thankful. First came the obvious, like family, God, shelter, food; then came crocuses in spring, warm pajamas, books, strawberries, hot showers, sunsets in Cape Breton, finding sea glass with the girls, eating popsicles with the family during a break from yard work, licorice tea, butterflies migrating through our yard, lemonade, thunderstorms, the root canal that brought relief, a spontaneous hike with a friend, a full night’s sleep, medicine for a sick daughter away at college and caught in a blizzard, Anne of Green Gables, and on and on and on.
When practicing thankfulness and gratitude, life itself becomes a treasure hunt, a search for the valuable, precious, unique and rare.
One sunny spring day, as I stood in the driveway with hundreds of little helicopter seeds from our maple tree swirling in the air around me, I thanked God for the beauty of his creation. A sense of childlike wonder filled my being and I smiled with inexplicable joy…
Hidden Mickey, Thunder Mountain Railroad | Photo from Wikipedia
On some days, I feel like life is mostly about losing…losing everything…losing everyone. And in some ways, that’s true. Life is loss. And I hurt. My girls grow up and out and away from me. And my grandparents pass away. And family gets busy and sometimes pain divides us. Even my body and mind betray me and I can’t stand the skin I’m in. How can I escape myself? The pain is painful and the emptiness feels like a black hole and I think, Why? Why God? Why so much loss? So much letting go?
And then I remember that every loss, every emptiness, is space for Him to enter, so that what was once barren can be filled again. Thankfulness lets Him in and I am filled.
Not because I made a list. Not because I’ve had good experiences. Not even because, as most Americans, I have more than many ever will.
I am content because God has everything. Or more importantly, because God is everything. At least, He is everything that matters.
I am not saying that God and His gifts are one and the same. Rather, His gifts are an expression of who He is. By giving, He opens a doorway to the greater gift: Himself. Our gratitude lets Him in.
And then, with our thanksgiving, we give Him ourselves. It’s all we really have to offer Him anyway. And it’s exactly what He came for.
Maharajah Jungle Trek Mural, Animal Kingdom | Photo by nicholeq.wordpress.com
So what if every day we hunted for God’s hidden treasures like hunting for Hidden Mickeys? Could we find ourselves driving down the road with our family, pointing and shouting, “Look at the sun on the river!” …or opening the windows on a rainy night and whispering, “Shhh….can you hear the rain on the tree tops?” and savoring the scent of wet pavement…or hearing a baby wailing in the store and thinking, “The sound of new life.” …or holding the door for an elderly man, even though you’re in a hurry, and remembering that he is worth your time…could we?
Could we stop to ponder what those gifts tell us about our Father God? Could we thank Him and be filled, not with stuff or feelings, but with Him, very God Himself?
As I stood in my driveway, caught in a whirlwind of helicopters and giddy with joy, I marveled at God’s handiwork, how he designed the seeds to fly and the wind to carry them and the soil to nourish them. I wondered at His ability and desire to create such varied and complex life. I soaked in the warmth of a sun that burns at His command. And in that moment, I knew Him.
He gave and opened the way. My gratitude let Him in. With thanksgiving, I gave Him myself.
I wrote the following piece of fiction in response to the Weekly Writing Challenge: Traces, in which we were encouraged to talk about leaving our mark. Interestingly enough, I posted on a similar topic in January. As WWC posts are supposed to be written specifically for the challenge, I have created something new (below). If you would like to read my non-fiction thoughts on the subject, feel free to visit YOLO or YOLOL | A Post for the New Year.
With her finger, she traces the engraved letters, one at a time.
The stone feels cold. Cold and hard. And final.
A-R-D-E-N
That’s all. The rest had worn away. It was a long time ago for this world that forgets so quickly. And yet for her…
He was young and strong and strong-willed. She loved him instantly. She watched him for months before he noticed her. And even then, only because she wanted him to. His training was over and he would leave soon for the war. She knew she shouldn’t, but she did it anyway.
He sat alone at the bar, staring into his drink, his right leg shaking anxiously. She’d been studying him long enough to know that he wasn’t worried; he was impatient and excited, but not worried. Like so many others, he was eager for battle, for a chance to make a difference, to give his life for what he believed in.
She, however, had seen too many wars. Not dozens or hundreds, but thousands. Thousands upon thousands. Her heart, drenched and heavy with the blood of a million men, felt light when she looked at him – his dark hair and bronzed skin offset by bright, green eyes. His earthiness, his humanity pulled her toward him.
He started when he saw her. It was as if she had just appeared in the seat next to him. He stared, speechless, at first. Her beauty…it was otherworldly. Golden-red hair tumbled in waves over her bare, fair shoulders and her eyes were the most unusual purple-grey. He felt himself relax into her smile, as if he’d known her all his life.
“You smell like lavender,” he breathed.
“I…what?” she laughed, almost embarrassed.
“You just…I’m sorry…I just,” He let out a sigh and smiled. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she smiled back.
Three days was all they had. Three days.
Confident and maybe a little naive , as the young so often are, he kissed her tears and promised to come back for her. As he walked away, she let him think he was leaving her. Let him think she’d be there when he returned…if he returned.
Sometime later, he saw her again. She’d been watching, as she was destined to do. In the fighting and the fury, among the gunfire and the screaming, she glided, seeing but unseen. Watching, waiting. And choosing. She had no choice but to choose.
Just as she brushed her hand over the terrified eyes of a soldier too young to be a man, closing them forever, she heard him. His screams tore into her. His humanity, again, drawing her to him, above him, by his side.
She understood instantly, as her kind always does, that his wounds, while not fatal, were devastating. And so she chose.
He lay on his back, his face waxing pale as the agony began to overwhelm him. But his eyes, darting back and forth, searching the gun-metal sky, glistened green like springtime. He began to call her name.
And then, because she wanted him to, he saw her. His anxious eyes settled on her face and his body slackened. With her fingertips, she brushed the hair away from his face, so he could see her better. And at her touch, his breathing calmed.
“You…smell like…lavender,” he whispered with a playful smile.
She intended to laugh, but a sob escaped in its place.
“Hey. Don’t cry. It’s OK. See? I promised you I’d come back. And here I am.”
Swallowing her tears, she replied, “And here you are.”
She gazed into his eyes for a long moment before resting a hand on either side of his bloodstained face. She leaned into him and touched her lips to his. They were cold, as she knew they would be.
Photo by Erica | Click to view in orginal post
But hers were warm. Warm and soft and gentle and painless and….
…for her, it seems like days, hours even, though more than a hundred years and thousands of battles and countless souls have passed. Yet, she would never forget, could never forget.
She holds the lavender close and, taking a deep breath, fills herself with the earthiness. Then, just as she positions the purple and green flowers beneath his name, she’s gone.
In honor of the Red Sox2013 World Series win, I have resurrected my 2004 Christmas letter and with a few modifications, made it into a blog post. Enjoy!
English: Boston Red Sox Cap Logo (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
As a little girl, while at my mother’s softball games or watching the Red Sox on TV with my late stepfather, Kenny, I learned to love the game of baseball. There’s just something about the hum of the crowd, the shouts of the ump, the crack of the bat on a hot summer night. Even through the television, I can practically smell the peanuts and hot dogs.
I know it’s a slow game. Some might say baseball’s nothing but a bunch of waiting, staring, spitting, crotch-grabbing and dirt kicking punctuated by short bursts of “real” action. I disagree. Actor Dennis Leary once compared baseball to Shakespeare. I get that because for the keen observer, baseball is more like a three act play than a game. Baseball tells a story.
I remember the day I realized what it means to be a Red Sox fan. I was about six years old, running around on the playground at school and some kid kept teasing me about the Sox. (Pretty sure he was a Yankees fan.) As I grabbed the ladder to the slide, I thought, Why? Why do I have to be a Red Sox fan? …like someone had thrust the identity upon me. Sports allegiances are a little like religion. At first you’re born into it and then, just as with your faith, there comes a day when you have to choose for yourself.
That was my day. I don’t have to be a Red Sox fan, I thought. And for a split second I imagined what life might be like as a Yankees fan. (Cut me some slack, I was six). For some reason, I couldn’t make the switch. As I climbed step by step up the ladder, I knew that I would forever be a Red Sox fan. Was it allegiance to my family? My stubborn personality? My dedication to underdogs the world over? I don’t know, but standing there atop the metal slide looking out over the playground, I decided I would stick around for the ride. Then I jumped onto my bottom and smiled all the way down.
Many years and just as many lost opportunities later, in 2004, I found myself watching the Red Sox throw it away to the Yankees…again. I felt so dejected I actually refused to watch game 4 of the ALCS. That is until my brother woke me in the middle of the night with a phone call.
“Hey, turn on the game,” he said. “They just might come back and win it.”
And they did. Well, at least they didn’t sweep us, I grumbled before falling back to sleep.
The next morning, I was folding laundry when the phone rang. I heard my stepfather on the other end. “Are you sitting down?” he asked.
“Um…well, I am now,” I said as I sat down on a kitchen bar stool, bracing for bad news. “Why? What’s up?”
“Want to go to the game tonight?”
“Wh..wh..what?” I stammered.
“I got a guy here at work – he just offered me two tickets to tonight’s game. Do you and Doug want to go?”
Do I want to go to the GAME? Game 5 of the ALCS? Against the Yankees? Pedro Martinez pitching? Probably the last game of the season? How? What?
“Y-Yes. Yes. Of course, yes!”
Sure, they would probably lose, but you just don’t say no to something like this, right?!
The next couple hours consisted of a frantic series of phone calls to my husband (Get your butt home!), my in-laws (Can you please, please, please watch the kids?), my brother (Can I borrow your cell phone? And by the way, sorry you have to work and I got the tickets instead…sort of.) And before we knew it, Doug and I were standing in the bleachers at Fenway Park watching Pedro Martinez strike out Derek Jeter. Somebody pinch me.
Fenway Park on June 21, 2008 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I can hardly begin to describe the anxiety levels at Fenway. The game lasted 14 innings and nearly six hours. Not to mention, all sorts of crazy things were happening on the field…like Big Papi trying to steal second base and starting pitchers Wakefield, Schilling and Lowe walking across the field to the bullpen at the end of the ninth. And they stopped serving beer after the seventh inning, so you could say the tension was palpable.
From the 10th inning on, everyone stayed on their feet; we were practically jumping out of our own skin. But I spent every top half sitting down with my face buried in my knees. I couldn’t bear to watch the Yankees at bat; every pitch was torture.
And then the moment came. 5 hours and 49 minutes after the first pitch, David Ortiz batted in the game winning run, keeping the Sox alive for another day and saving us all from having to watch the Yankees party on our turf.
We were cold and tired. Our bodies ached from standing on concrete all night. I hadn’t been to the bathroom in seven hours – seven hours! – and we were screaming and high-fiving and hugging total strangers. Doug carried me around piggy-back style while we bellowed Sweet Caroline and Tessie, filling our lungs with the cold, magical Fenway air. As we pushed through the crowd on Brookline Ave., I heard some kid shouting “SOX IN SEVEN! SOX IN SEVEN!” And for the first time I began to think, maybe, just maybe….
Well, you know the rest of the story…the bloody red sock, the biggest upset in history, a party in their house, the Red October Lunar Eclipse, the longest winning streak in post season history, the sweep, the curse reversed. Redemption, sweet redemption.
For all those who never lived to see the day…Kenny…Aunt Kate… and for those who did…my grandmother… my friend Julie’s father who watched the last game with his daughter and grandson. For all the pain, heartache and disappointment. For all the years of taunting and abuse we took from Yankees fans. Could you have imagined a better win? People have tried. No one came close. Because this was magic.
When my brother came by the house a couple of hours after the Sox won the World Series, he said, “We were just getting used to the fact that they beat the Yankees and now they’ve already won the World Series.”
It was crazy, right? 86 years of disappointment and then in eight games, we’re on top of the world. One minute we were the jaded, anxiety ridden, baggage-carrying, curse-burdened, Red Sox faithful and the next we were the light-hearted, unshackled, banner waving victors.
Our new status has taken some getting used to – not the Oh no, I don’t know how to be a winner! getting used to – but the Did that really happen? getting used to. Because miraculously, all the years and generations of bitterness are gone. Completely gone. Life will never be the same again. Red Sox Nation has been redeemed.
But that’s exactly how redemption works, isn’t it? One minute you’re worthless and broken and the next, you’re bought back and restored. The shame and bitterness disappear. It’s as if you’re a new person.
The transformation of Red Sox fans from cursed to champions happened in a moment, but the process was long. There was pain, suffering, defeat, sacrifice and the shedding of blood. Redemption, by its very nature, comes at a price.
For thousands upon thousands of years, a fallen humanity waited for redemption. The process was long. There was pain, defeat, sacrifice and the shedding of blood. On that final day, Jesus suffered the agony of an eternity separated from God for each one of us. And then, just like that: Redemption. Sweet redemption.
One minute we were baggage-carrying, curse-burdened, broken, defeated children and the next we arose forgiven and transformed. The curse was broken and now, we’re new people. We’re whole.
The price was steep but Jesus paid it all. Our lives need never be the same again.
1. Look, I gained 20 lbs.!
Do I blame you for not advertising the new, softer, rounder you? Duh. Of course not. Take my profile pic, for example. It’s from a NYC wedding I attended over a year ago. I’m wearing contacts, make-up and a formal gown. It may be the best photo I’ve taken in 10 years. That’s the me I want people to see. I don’t want them to see 6:30am, gray-haired, bespectacled me. In my defense, it is called “Face”-book. Besides, I wouldn’t want to embarrass the kids. Yeah, that’s it. I’m doing it for the kids. Point is, maybe your boyfriend’s ex doesn’t look quite so fine as her FB page implies. I mean, you did see those celebrities on The Talk without make-up, didn’t you?
2. My husband forgot our anniversary. I don’t even know why we’re still married.
OK. So, I’m guilty of posting a brag on my man here and there. But for all the good things I post (which isn’t much because I’m not the gushy type), there’s at least an equal amount of crappy stuff that goes unposted. And, barring newlyweds and the ridiculously blissful, this is true for most of us. Because marriage is hard. Sometimes, it’s really hard. Not that I recommend posting all your couple troubles on Facebook…talk about a sure fire marriage-killer! But maybe next time you come across Sally’s post about her best-ever husband who makes her breakfast in bed every morning and serenades her with loves songs written just for her each night – maybe you’ll remember that even if her husband is perfect (which, trust me, he isn’t) the rest of us are slogging it out in the trenches of love, just like you.
3. We’re struggling financially and now our house is in foreclosure. #soblessed
I write this from a desk in suburban Connecticut, where UGG’s, a North Face fleece and an iPhone are practically requirements for middle school. Imagine what it would be like to endure foreclosure while rubbing elbows with lawyers and brokers at the winter choral concert. It was bad enough having to explain to my kindergartener’s friend how we get on without a garage. I’m so tired of feeling like our financial value mirrors our personal value. This is America, after all…you know, give me your tired, your poor. Your huddled masses…right?
4. See me and my boyfriend in this pic? Aren’t we the cutest? He gave me an STD and now I’m pregnant. He’s taking me to get an abortion tomorrow.
I know. I know. You’re in love. For real. Like totally. And it’s going to last forever. Yes, I know, for some of you that’s actually true and aren’t you cute? But for most of you, it’s fantasy. So when you see a pic of Ashley-Ann and her sweetheart Lance all snuggled up under the blankets “just watching a movie” remember that when she gets pregnant, catches herpes or gets her heart broken, chances are she won’t share a photo of that. In part, because those who once envied her will then judge her, when what she really needs is support. Lesson:Don’t set your relationship goals by what you see on social media.
5. I didn’t get the promotion I wanted and my boss says I suck.
No one wants to be told they don’t measure up. And sometimes we do measure up and still get passed over. Haven’t most of us been there at one point or another? Of course, no one is advertising their professional failures online, likely because they’re hoping to actually get another job. (And now that companies purchase social media records of applicants, this is probably a good plan.) However, rest assured, you are not alone. And you are more than your career.
6. My son was arrested for DUI. My other son is an A student plagued by perfectionism. And my daughter’s addicted to prescription drugs (which she stole from me).
Now this one’s tricky, because posting negative stuff about our kids online would just be bad parenting. And of course, we all love our kids. We think they’re adorable and funny and talented and loving and generous and compassionate. And they are! But they’re also challenging, demanding, selfish and struggling through this life like the rest of us. They aren’t trophies. We can’t use them as the measuring rods of success. Let’s not put that on ourselves. Let’s not put that on them. Don’t compare. Don’t compare. Don’t compare. Just do the best with what you have and trust God to fill in the rest.
7. The dog has fleas, the kids have lice and the house has bed bugs. #partyatourhouse
When it comes to honesty, some things are off limits. With cleanliness being what it is in America and not wanting to be treated like we’re under quarantine, we keep these little things to ourselves. (Which, in a literal sense, is perfectly fine.) But isn’t hiding exhausting?! If I can’t tell you my dog has fleas, are we really friends?
Photo by LiveLifeHappy
8. I prayed and God didn’t answer. I worshiped and felt lonelier. I read the Bible…nothing.
How easily we equate a “positive attitude” with being a “good Christian.” Failing to live in victory? Bad Christian. Are you complaining? 40 years in the desert for you. Haven’t heard from God? You must have an unrepentant heart. I, too, am tempted to think that if I’m struggling, I must be doing something wrong. But what if I’m struggling simply because I live in a fallen world? What if there is no explanation? Sometimes, life is just painful and confusing. Ask Job. Or read this book and see if it makes sense to you. Bible quotes are encouraging – seriously, they are – but I need spiritual transparency, too. How else can we travel this road together? And how else can we let others know that following Christ is more than putting on a happy face?
9. I spent the weekend doing homework, staring at the ceiling and wondering why I’m the only one not out having the best time ever. #imaloser
I can’t imagine living as a teenager today, feeling the need to prove my own self-worth with photographic evidence of a booming social life on Instagram, Twitter, FB or wherever. Just trying to find a hairstyle acceptable to the middle school powers-that-be was enough for me. (Especially after my Annie perm debacle.) But at least I didn’t have to worry about someone snapping a shot of my bad hair day and sending it into cyberspace for all eternity. Anyway, remember, no matter how old you are, much of life is ho-hum, looking a lot more like Lorde’s Royals video thanMy Super Sweet Sixteen. And that’s ok. Mountaintops are great for inspiration but life happens in the valley. 10. You don’t really know me and I hope you never do.
Really, this sums up all the others. In many ways, it sums up social media entirely.
I believe that deep down we all want to be known – truly known, understood, accepted and loved. At the same time, we spend most of our time hiding because we’re afraid that if we are truly known, we will be rejected. So we hide…behind our achievements, behind our looks, behind the personas we create for ourselves, behind the personas people create for us, behind our busyness, behind our defenses.
Social Media feeds this part of our human nature, enabling us to be known by many but only as the person we want others to see. We can live like mini-celebrities, presenting ourselves to the world however we wish while hiding all the ugly bits. The problem is everyone is doing this. And because we are so easily deceived, we begin to believe that the happy, shiny faces of our “friends” are real and constant. Then they, in turn, believe the same about us. Thus, we create this vicious cycle where we think we are relating to each other but instead we are isolating ourselves.
But that’s not what I want. Not really. And I don’t think it’s what you want either. The question is, will we settle for the superficial connections we make online or do we have the courage to seek genuine community and real relationships? It’s risky. Believe me, I know! Because there’s a part of me that hopes you never really know me. But there’s another part of me that desperately hopes you do.
So my advice to you is not that you give up Facebook or that you bare your soul online, but rather that you think about the time you spend there. Why are you on social media? What is it doing for you? Are you honest about who you are? Do you spend too much time comparing yourself and your family to others? How can you connect more honestly with others? I don’t know. Just a thought.
Lightning Bug 