Kristin Ritzau

Twelfth (& final) Consideration: The Extraordinary

Kristin Ritzau — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 16:11:34 -0800

Last night I heard an extraordinary story of a single hummingbird. You see there was a huge fire in the forest where the little bird lived. As the trees burned, the animals whose homes were on fire ran towards the river. There were elephants, raccoons, beavers, foxes, bears, and many others who gathered to watching it all burn. As the fire’s destruction raged on, they stood on the banks immobilized by fear and awe.

But the little bird thought to herself, I can do something. So she beat her wings as fast as they would go and, as rapidly as a bird can, she fluttered back and forth between the fire and the river carrying a few drops at a time to help put the inferno out.

The other animals discouraged her efforts. It’s so little water. You’re not really making an impact. And on and on their words flew at her while she went back and forth, back and forth. The elephant with its trunk, the beaver with its resources, the other animals, none of them did anything except watch the unfolding disaster. The hummingbird didn’t point her wing at anyone though, she simply turned to them between one of her many trips and said frankly, “I am doing the best I can with what I’ve got.”

So did the bird put out the fire? I don’t think so, but she put out her little part. I heard this story last night while watching a documentary called Dirt. It was enlightening to learn that it is no laughing matter that we are made from dirt. It’s extraordinary really how many microorganisms are in it. That it has a DNA, and how we are poisoning it by covering it up and using so many chemicals. Our future relies on dirt, yet so many want to cleanse the dirt away.

I watched on the edge of my seat as people’s stories of their own extraordinary journeys were told. Why roots are important, why ecosystems are vital to our wellbeing, why communities matter, why children and adults connect with nature in radical ways. It all caused me to consider that the extraordinary really is in the ordinary — in dirt no less.

It’s in dirt, and it is also in a freshly picked carrot, in eating a weed. It’s not the 10 most fascinating people of 2011 or who got married and divorced this year. It’s the parent that chooses to end the cycle of abuse; it’s the friendship that has survived decades even through moves and life changes; it’s building a relationship with your neighbor; it’s in cooking a meal actually from scratch with your bare hands.

It’s what satisfies at the deepest level instead of distracting us from our truth.

The hummingbird was not distracted by the tragedy; she was inspired and empowered. She mobilized herself while others were content to let their jadedness and fear rapture them. If I’m considering anything this last day of 2011 it’s that I want 2012 to be extraordinary. I want that for our homestead, my family, this little community, our marriage, and myself.

But the shift I have to then take is not to do something extraordinary, but address the things that hold me back; to talk to the voices of fear and comfortability; to confront the pain that surfaces in the weirdest places. In that, I move towards an invitation – one that allows me to be extraordinarily me. And become more of who I am created to be.

After all, the problems are not outside of me. The problem emerges when I am paralyzed by what I see and content to blame everything around me and myself. I want to do the best I can with what I’ve got. Most importantly that doesn’t mean change the world, rather recognizing that I change the world as I continue to change myself.

So thank you 2011. Thank you for your rupture at the beginning. Thank you to my companions on this journey who stretched me and pushed me. Thank you to those who said to go for it. Thank you all for reading these blogs and visiting the site, going to workshops, and buying the book. Thank you to my students who inspire me and allow me to do what I love. Thank you to my husband, my equal partner in this life, for this wild adventure where we truly have found ourselves as equals. Thank you Spirit for never leaving me and the vocational integrity you have called me to.

And here’s to 2012. A year which holds extraordinary opportunities once again; chances to seek and find, to unfold, to be invited into a journey I can only imagine. In that, I will use my imagination not to dream outside of myself, but to realize that I am allowed to imagine what I actually desire.

Happy New Year Everyone – Happy New Year indeed.

Story of the Hummingbird from the documentary DIRT the Movie; directed and produced by Bill Benenson and Gene Rosow; Common Ground Media 2009

Photo of Hummingbird taken by Christian Meyn/FreeDigitalPhotos.net.

Eleventh Consideration: Silent Reflection

Kristin Ritzau — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 11:56:48 -0800

I grabbed Sabrina Ward Harrison's The True and the Questions this morning for permission to delve into a time of reflection. This week makes room for that as people take the rest of their vacation time and relax - or in our case, work on our homestead.

(Yes. More planter boxes are going in... stay tuned.)

As I paused from the morning routine, I ran across this prompt: "In the silence I understand..." So I went with it while embracing my own silence. In the silence I understand that mystery is incomprehensible. I know that there is more I don't know than I do. I realize I shouldn't workout directly after eating. I understand that this year is coming to an end... and then I found my writing stride.

A year I reclaimed as my golden year is almost over. My birthday is June 11th, but my 11th year on this planet was a year of awful inbetweens. Caught in the middle of girlhood and becoming a woman; stuck in the divide between the carefree elementary school years and the freedom of high school and between my divorcing parents. It was not a year I reflect on with a smile.

2011 was my chance to reclaim -- for restitution instead of resolution. It was a genuinely good year. A year for me with nothing more than a common cold. A year with a last minute trip to Mexico. A year spent going deeper with new friends. A year of taking A Beautiful Mess to Colorado - of full workshops in Southern California, and selling 600 books.

It was also a year I got demoted and quit my job. See good years don't mean sans heartache, trouble, or even sickness. I can attest to that truth after having spent the better part of the last decade, (which was still good) sick.

However this year the rupture of comfortability caused me and my husband to move into the goodness of vocation -- of a calling instead of success in society's definition. These 11 considerations have been a chance to reflect on this advent season, but also the goodness of the past year and its own darkness, gifts, peace, and food.

In silent reflection, I hold John O'Donohue's words close, "We tend to perceive difficulty as disturbance. Ironically, difficulty can be a great friend of creativity.” And creativity has been the outcome of 2011 for me.

In my inductive thinking state, a year ago I could have never imagined this outcome. I plastered my walls with giant sticky-noted options. I laid out all of the plausible four alternatives I potentially had, the pros and cons. I cried. It sucked. There is no other word for it.

My perfectionist nature drove me to want the perfect route forward. I dove into lunch meetings, networking opportunities, and sessions with my spiritual director. They all called me, not forward, but deeper, and instead of suffocating while they pushed, I became a fish in water. It was a good year.

This year has held challenge and heartache, but of a different sort. The sort where I have never worked harder whether that be planning a class or giving out a failing grade; digging holes for seedlings or never seeing them come up. To see the growth and steps my marriage has taken to full equal partnership and working out patterns of the past that we do not want to see repeated; to spending time in the prayer of examen, with my consolations and desolations knowing that no matter what, the Spirit is there and will be there in 2012, just as in 2011. It has been a treasure to reflect on it all today. After all, why do we only get one golden year?

So as this week affords some space for reflection, I would invite you to list here what you're considering this week. What has this last year held? For better or worse? In sickness and health? Because every year holds a promise, like a vow, that is only fulfilled if we reflect back upon it.

Quote from John O'Donohue's Anam Cara

Tenth Consideration: Turning off the Computer

Kristin Ritzau — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 19:09:04 -0800

This tenth one is one I thought long and hard about the last couple of days. What should I post so I can put up something prolific on Christmas?.... (A time when I am sure you're all checking email and Facebook)

Then is dawned on me in such a simple way - I don't want to be on my computer on Christmas. I love connecting with people online, but today is a day to be with my community; to be with my husband and our family, to be with the Trinity -- all of them in unique ways.

So in considering what turning off my computer means right now, well, it means being present to what's around me and right now, it's not technology.

Have a blessed and happy Christmas and I will be posting 11 and 12 in the coming week!

A Gaelic Christmas Blessing

God’s grace descend upon you,
Christ’s love descend upon you,
Spirit’s peace descend upon you,
Every day of your days on earth.

Nollaig shona duit
Happy Christmas

Ninth Consideration: A Sense of Humor

Kristin Ritzau — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 10:09:01 -0800

Today I have tale about a Christmas Card that began with this photo:

Our first Christmas. What a joy it was. People loved this card because it wasn't super posed; we weren't dressed up. We were just ourselves. So we took their lovely compliments and the following year sent out this gem.

Our close friends didn't even know who it was from. It was hilarious - maybe you had to be there, but we enjoyed making ourselves look awkward early on.

Since knowing who your cards are from is important, the following year we decided to reclaim our heads.

And then a weird phenomenon started happening... people were really excited about receiving our Christmas card. We gave them out to people who didn't even know us because they wanted to see it. There was no letter; it was just a reminder to others, but probably mostly ourselves, to not take this time of year that seriously.

We needed to remind each other of that most definitely for this one:

This was the year we bought our broken down house. Nate's bubble makes the following comment: "Let's try to pretend we're as normal as possible and haven't been stressed out at all this year my darling. (Who am I kidding)" And in my naturally docile (ahem) state, my reply was, "Whatever you say dear....(Glad I spiked this eggnog!)"

It was getting ridiculous. So why hold back?

2009 - the year we wished you all warmth only Snuggie can bring. Using the ad as inspiration, we started to research for the next year too. And came across this American classic:

It was the ideal image to represent our year of formally establishing our homestead.

Happy Holidays from the Homestead...

So what do you do after that? We realized it wasn't about "topping" it as it was doing something entirely different. 2011's inspiration came from the exact opposite of American classic. Well, I'll just show you.

Over.the.top. So in the spirit of considering our senses of humor, we wanted to once again not take ourselves seriously, by taking it totally serious. Therefore, I give you 2011's Keeping up with the Ritzaus:

We also have a housemate who we adore. She is a part of our community and household, so how could we leave her out of these shenanigans? This second version was only given out to people who know Beth... but how could I not show you all here?

So what will next year hold? Who knows. But it will surely be full with our senses of humor.

Eighth Consideration: Peace-full

Kristin Ritzau — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 11:25:25 -0800

Two leaders died this week, both with incredibly different legacies. One nuclear; one Velvet. My context of both is drastically different: My picture, driven by the media, of Kim Jong Il is a crazed, power-hungry, slightly insane man. My picture of Vaclav Havel, former president of the Czech Republic, is a man of integrity, humor, creativity and passion. This version was shaped by his friend, a fighter pilot from WW2, who was my professor.

I studied abroad in Prague during college. It was a random choice – a time when I was seeking to identify my own calling and identity. This small, formerly communist country, which one has to stay in for more than a week to realize the effects this had on it, changed me. It was my first taste of learning of nonviolence, of meeting people who had drastically different beliefs than I did (or maybe I was just willing to listen this time), of living on the other side of the world.

I was forced to find peace in new ways. And having examples around me like Vaclav Havel, forced me to see a different kind of truth.

The Czech Republic is quaint country. Their size and voice in the world is small enough that they didn’t have to compromise their values after their freedom was gained. The Velvet Revolution that Havel helped lead in 1989 was amazingly peace-full. I imagine after the devastating effects of communism, their values were the only thing left beating inside of them. Therefore, further violence to their community wasn't even an option for moving forward.

When a country or a community grows too large, certain voices become louder than others. There are more pieces to work with and some get lost in the shuffle. Values and voices are drowned out by statements and policies, platforms and the majority.

I believe the same to be true of our egos. The bigger an ego, the more it is based on a false self, moving away from those little voices of truth that hold the key to true reconciliation because too much is at stake – like one’s pride. This was the case for me in Praha. I didn’t have any arguments left for my roommate who had taught in the inner-city.

Why can’t people just work harder - showed my ego and privilege shining through. The world seemed so simple, our nation so powerful – anything was possible, but at the same time, it wasn’t so simple and I needed to recognize that in my own heart.

Some people say, it can’t be fixed; it’s too late. They say this about congress, and they say it about personal relationships. Even as politicians argue into the holiday season, it’s as if we can feel the drastic tension and juxtaposition of the two leaders who just died – hurry choose a side – violence or pacifism. Are we fascinated with peace or tyranny? By the about of coverage being given to one side…. I am willing to take my bets.

When I hear thoughts on choosing sides, on stubbornness, on lack of working together, I am grieved. I also think we all need to go back to kindergarten. Especially during a time of year when we’re supposed to be helping each other. Even if someone doesn’t do it all year long – for some reason, now it’s acceptable. Fine. I’ll give you that - start somewhere.

But so much of what happens around family dinner tables, in family histories, and in our own soul looks much like congress. Divided, torn, indecisive, unable to heal or move forward. Lacking peace. Just get through it.

When I consider the Christmas season, though, I feel a little warmth, because in a season with extreme similarities 2,000 years ago, at a point somewhere in the middle of it, the Christmas story happened.

It didn’t happen at the beginning of time; it didn’t happen at the end. The ultimate act of peacemaking happened in the middle. There was work before and there continues to be work after.

This narrative is something that struck me this week after a friend said in church that peace doesn’t mean calm, but it doesn’t mean violence. I hold peace and madness at two opposite ends. Even in my own ego. I want to shut down the voices that rage and try to move into some sort of even-keeled state. However, he again reminded me that joy doesn’t mean happiness either.

So often this season gets wrapped up, literally, will false hope. A sense of happiness and tension rule as we move to the table. Hopefulness moves into fix-it mode as we try to alleviate family patterns that have been present for so long. But the problems don’t need fixing as much as we need to listen to our own tensions first. Our healthy egos and advocates need to be louder than our narcissism. And that doesn’t look calm – it looks like the tension that fissures before we choose, not sides, but a way of making healing peace or hurtful violence… even in our own heads.

Sometimes the most violence committed is against ourselves. So how else are we supposed to make peace if we don’t even know how to reconcile with our own voices?

As I have grieved in my small way this week for Havel, I am reminded of what fueled him – his passion – until the end. This didn’t fuel over-the-top goals or wishes, or even fame – it fueled a reconciled way of viewing the world. He always let his ego speak, but not in cruelty, rather with his creativity. If he had an issue, he wrote a play. His country had the grace to accept him as he was and for them, at the time, that is what they needed to move forward in peace. Just acceptance moving out of ignorance.

So maybe the first step to peace talks this Christmas is accepting ourselves in the middle of our stories and only then, maybe, can we start to accept others in the middle of their own. Moving forward toward working on and considering a peace-filled future – in which the key words to consider there are “working on.”

Seventh Consideration: Home.

Kristin Ritzau — Wed, 21 Dec 2011 10:39:34 -0800

“I’m not sure if people know what ‘home’ is anymore,” a fellow church member expressed during a conversation from earlier this year.

This comment struck a cord with many as we nodded and contemplated the meaning of home. As the Christmas season is now upon us, I can't help but consider home once again.

Many consider the two to go hand-in-hand this time of year – home and Christmas. Some wait to go home. Others work on creating a home, and more still do not have safe homes at all.

An angel came to Mary in her home, as she was to marry a man from the “home” of David.

Homes aren’t just things we shop for or sit inside. They are legacies, for better or worse, but most of all they are what they are. And instead of listening to the angel's message - Do not be afraid – our fear of what home really could mean and look like, the hard work it takes to create one, drives us to disconnect from our homes whether they be our bodies or actual safe spaces.

However, we keep being inspired by home. We fight for our homes, we look for homes, we move from home to home, we pray for the troops to come home, we sing of home, and we label those without a home.

A home is more than a place though – it should be a foundation, a safety net, a center of tradition. It should be a place of integrity and authenticity.

Jesus’ first home was in a stable. A barn inside a musty cave where animals were housed. This was not a dream home or a cute nursery or even a hospital. We can all huddle in our chicken coop to realize how glamorous this really was.

However, space is important, not with its decadence, but as Mary shows us, as a place to greet angels and strangers. Maybe they are one in the same.

We create homes in our wombs too and welcome little strangers as soon as we know of their anticipated presence. Our wombs also carry our dreams and grief too. A "gut feeling" is a gut feeling for a reason - an inward compass pointing toward home.

The stable became a sacred space not because of the extraordinary or the decadence, but because of the ordinary. Human and beast sharing a moment of time; a birth.

It was then celebrated by welcoming more strangers and not with open fires and chestnuts roasting, but with the miraculous simplicity of new life. The silent night in which hope rested in a new season.

But I caution this jump ahead to the welcoming because so much of the journey home is the waiting and so much of the waiting is the preparing. We try to prepare our homes by decorating and making them look like masterpieces for any arrival be it Christmas or a baby. Yet, we may have forgotten in the preparation and waiting to actually create a home in this in-between instead of just making the outside look really fancy. And in creating a home, we just may find the simplest of gifts – a true safe place of belonging.

Home is a central part of our legacies that really has nothing to with our beds being made or stockings being hung – it is a place where we serve and learn to serve. It is a place we prepare, but mostly our hearts, because as the angel declared, “Nothing is impossible with God,” but the hardest part may be creating and considering a home in ourselves to let God do the impossible.

Sixth Consideration: Traditions (That started in the 80s)

Kristin Ritzau — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 09:09:11 -0800

The 80s returned last night… in all their glory. My husband’s employer (which will remain nameless to protect those involved) had their first themed Christmas party and it was also the first time spouses were invited.

As I crimped and hair-sprayed, I secretly wondered if this was a cruel joke and if we would be the only ones to show up in a full length sweater dress and neon jump suit. Luckily, we were greeted by side pony tails, animal print spandex, and pop rocks – lots of pop rocks.

What was the bane of my week (“Seriously? 80s? What am I going to wear?” Etc.) became a delightfully fun event.

As I put on two inches of blue eye shadow, I screamed – with a little delight – “I look like my mother!” When my hair creation was done, I was surprised to resemble my first-grade self. A little girl who wanted a perm soooo badly that I believe I had three before I was 10.

When we were driving in the car, I couldn’t help but wonder if this lovely soft sweater tent had been to Christmas parties of the past. If it was fawned over as being “so in” because now it was cruelly and radically “so out.”

The costumes allowed us to let our guards down, to talk about our childhoods, and mostly laugh at the fact that we looked like our parents or characters on Designing Women.

It was a great inaugural tradition.

The 80s encompass my childhood – it was full of Rainbow Bright and Strawberry Shortcake. Jem and Rockers was my favorite cartoon and luckily, I kind of looked like one last night. I remember the Berlin Wall falling on our tiny TV that we had to get up to switch the channel to one of 13 stations. My parents alluded to the fact that times were changing – things wouldn’t be the same any more. Ronald Reagan, my glow worm, and permed hair… I survived all of that.

However, it wasn’t as much about survival as it was about remembering traditions that were started then too. My mother would turn our house into a wonderland, not because she had to, but because this was (and still is) her favorite time of year. Clam Chowder and Swedish meatballs became our meal every Christmas Eve and we looked forward to that meal as the homemade advent calendar ticked the days away until Santa’s arrival.

This foundation included our Christmas pageant at our tiny neighborhood church. The year I was an angel with a crooked halo became something of a Christmas legend and alluded to more about my personality than I probably knew at the time. My brother also singed his hair at the candle light service one year. He was enamored with being old enough to hold it, so he studied this new feature of Christmas intently, while the hair smoldered unnoticed by our family until we were leaving and he had tiny little frizzy bangs. Again, something we will never let him live down.

My mom and I sang silent night, her signing soprano and me alto. My dad would get out the video camera diligently wanting to capture every moment of us opening our stockings.

More traditions came like the mouthwatering tailgate sandwiches becoming breakfast that we only ate at cold football games before. And going to the 11 o’clock p.m. service, so that the first thing we did on Christmas was exit church.

These are my traditions, a foundation of memory, nostalgia, and a hope that I too can share these things with my husband and also give myself permission to build my own.

(Oh yeah, and the Nutcracker too)

Traditions are important. They anchor us to a history, a legacy. They bind us to a community. They also allow for innovation, creativity and re-imagining.

One tradition I wish to continue with is the Winter Solstice event that we are throwing tonight. In the chaos (and fun) of white elephant gifts, ugly sweaters, and cookie exchanges, I really feel called to do something that showcases different kinds of gifts.

“Please come as yourself,” the invite should have read. “And bring your own personal gifts and creativity with you.” Whether that is song, art, photography, poetry, writing, or being an enthusiastic supporter, this event is seeking to partake in a different kind of tradition. One where we acknowledge the changing of the seasons; the hope in the short days turning longer. The promise of something new brewing just below the frost.

Spaces where we can honestly and authentically express ourselves are rapidly losing their well-deserved platform in a society where we normally find our identity in getting more. Hopefully, through being intentional in our gift giving and receiving as well as with how we look at food and faith, some new traditions can emerge that continue to build on legacies of old. Legacies that will not shudder in fear at what feels like a possible threat, but embrace the new with the old; traditions that stand the test of time with ones that need a bit of fresh insight.

Most of all may this be a season that inspires and gives life more than just takes. What a beautiful consideration that tradition would be.

Fifth Consideration: Believing in Santa Claus

Kristin Ritzau — Sun, 18 Dec 2011 13:36:23 -0800

I have reposted the most reprinted letter to the editor in history for number five. It shows that sometimes faith springs up from the most unexpected places. Even though the jolly guy in a red suit gets a bad rap at times for his naughty and nice list and gobs of toys, it is important to consider what this actual man stood for and believed in, so that we to may continue to believe in him.

Dear Editor,
I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, "If you see it in the Sun, it's so." Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?
Virginia O'Hanlon
115 West Ninety-Fifth Street

1897

Actual response from Francis Pharcellus Church, New York Sun's Editor from 1897

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be [adult's] or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest [adult] that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! He lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

As seen on http://www.wnyc.org/blogs/neh-preservation-project/2010/dec/08/yes-virginia/ Accessed Dec. 14, 2011

Fourth Consideration: Food.

Kristin Ritzau — Sat, 17 Dec 2011 10:09:31 -0800

My holiday meals have been described as "foo-foo." Our brussel sprouts with blue cheese and bacon, two kinds of stuffing, a brined organic turkey. The triumph was last year's Thanksgiving - making 13 dishes from scratch. It was a far cry from Stoffer's stuffing and green bean casserole.

I don't say this to alienate, segregate, or manipulate. We cook this way because first and foremost, I have a soy intollerence, and almost every preservative laden food has soy in it. If I chose the convenient way, I would be sick almost every day. It's amazing how for so long I chose to live with a stomach ache thinking it was normal. Secondly, the food made with our hands just tastes better. As declared on Facebook last night - I'm obsessed with cauliflower. I used to hate it, but people like Molly Wizenberg taught me how to caramelize it ... there is no going back to ranch dip and dried out veggie trays.

We, my husband and I, have been challenged to move beyond the two main food groups of sweet and salty. Our world and our souls have been pushed to recognize the bitter, spicy, and sour (and this expands outside of our stomachs as well). Our pantry is full of homemade delicacies like white wine, vanilla bean, apricot jam, and zucchini relish from the last of our summer bounty. We're using what we have and moving beyond processed foods to actually being part of a process. A process that seems so radical, yet so many are part of it every day and many more bow out of it too.

Is this foo-foo? Maybe, but I don't see any other way forward for my family. By embracing the realities of the five tastes, I have reawoken my God-given senses as well. I play with the sight, sound, feeling, smell, and then finally the taste of my food.

This journey has made me keenly aware of how we spend our money and time on food; of how our healthcare system doesn't educate us about food, or worse, misleads us. This whole process has connected me to a bigger system of my neighbors, my farmers, and my own back (and front) yard. Some scream for immigration reform, but don't realize why their tomatoes are so cheap and the abuse that came with them.

Christmas requires a certain part of our souls to awaken - a generous, compassionate side. Most non-profits and retail stores alike move into the black during this time of year, but what about our farmers and our own bodies? We shift into survival mode making sure stores are visited, the fridge is full, cookies are consumed, and checks are written, but do we peel back the layers to know why we do this or how it became this way?

When did becoming conscious of what we put in our bodies become foo-foo?

It's not that I want to live in extremes -- I love french fries. I understand the limitations of quality vegetables being delivered by zip codes. But the reality is that by making french fries cheap and pizza a vegetable, we have also delievered a larger message that cheap and easy is okay. Convenience is king or necessity because of systematic marginalization. I shouldn't have to say this, but these messages then transfer over to be about more than just food.

If I ate french fries every day, I would get sick. Our bodies, our farms, and this nation's citizens and immigrants are all crying out for a more sustainable way. But sustainable doesn't always mean fast or how long something can sit on a shelf.

Sustainable means thinking about the world seven generations from now; that, "Jesus is coming soon," does not mean hurry and eat as many cheeseburgers as you can. It means that we don't know what is going to happen, so choose what is healthy in this one life you've been given which doesn't mean only eating like a rabbit or counting calories either.

In a season where people freak out about how many desserts they are eating, may the discussion of food this Christmas not be about sugar consumption or exercise. May they revolve around finding time to cook (and fighting for it). May it be a time of feasting, but not gluttonous indulging - feasting of conversation, a well-rounded meal, and sitting down without television and advertisements so we can fill up on more than just food. May the moral issues surrounding food revolve around how it got to our table and not that we were "good" so we can have another cookie.

May food drive us ALL together instead of being a tool of ignorance, force, or guilt-driven disconnection.

May we consider food this Christmas and all of the complexities that moving towards a table - full or scarce - means with our families, our communities, and our world. It's amazing, is it not, how much really boils down to food?

Third Consideration: The Christmas Letter

Kristin Ritzau — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 11:54:44 -0800

Sarah Ban Breathnach writes, “There is a woman still at large – charmed and dangerous. She waves her clever hand over a room and it looks like a page from House Beautiful. She waves her creative hand over the fruits of the earth and a feast appears nightly. Her thumb is green, her herb vinegar is curing, her potpourri recipe is sought, her PTA cupcakes are from scratch, her Halloween costumes are legendary, she still wears size 8. Her celebrity lawyer husband adores her, her five summa cum children think she’s laude. She finished her holiday shopping, wrapping, and sending in November. Now she’s turning her attention to making her own New Year’s Eve confetti out of naturally colored eggshells. I know this because I’ve just received her annual Christmas letter. Be forewarned. It’s speeding its way to your house.”

Lordy, this season is exhausting. These words ring loud and clear as Christmas gifts clutter my bed, wrapping is all over my office, and I wonder if I am doing enough. I am. But just in case I didn’t get the memo, the letters start arriving. You know those ones: typed, perfectly folded, maybe even on Christmas letterhead. Some are brief updates with tidbits from friends of old. But others, well, they are legendary… and apparently, so is every year they have lived.

But these letters that are so one-sided, speak to a different phenomena, one where we are disconnected from those on a mailing list and feel the need to fill everyone in. We feel the need to shout from the rooftops all of the “good” things that happened, and I always wonder what the “bad” stuff was. What would another member of the family say? Therein is the issue, we catalog out lives into good and bad: good and bad food, good and bad gifts, good and bad events, good and bad people. One person becomes the spokesperson and everyone else is just a player in the game of life.

In this crazy “updating” world, I am learning to let go of good and bad. I’m investing in handling what is. What is right in front of me – the to do lists, the packages to be sent, the frost that is wiping out our new little seedlings. But it is more than just what we have done or need to do, and I think that is what drives me nuts about these letters. We whittle our lives down to checklists each year and each season. And these lists have little to do with what kind of people we are becoming in community.

If our communities are getting letters once a year from us, I would question if those truly are our communities or if we have moved towards “generous acquaintances.” In general, that is how I feel about social networking; it leaves something to be desired when everything about ourselves can be managed, deleted, or hidden. Too much of that is bleeding into our daily psyche as well.

So for Christmas this year, consider writing a Christmas letter to yourself. May it be one of glad tidings and great joy, but may it not rob you of the valleys that have shown you light and wisdom in the depths. Hopefully, it will be a tool of connection, but not to those far and wide outside of yourself, but to those voices who live deep within your soul who never get a chance to hear you or be heard.

Consider others’ letters and hold them loosely knowing it’s never the whole story and consider who your real story needs to be told to and not just in a letter. That just may be one of the greatest gifts you could give someone this holiday season, to tell your story and also listen to someone else’s.

And then, as Breathnach reflects again, “for this year’s crop of Christmas letters, I find they make quite absorbent liners for the gerbil cage.”

Quote from Sarah Ban Breathnach. Simple Abundance: A Daybook of Comfort and Joy. Warner: New York, 1995. December 9^th Reflection.