Pardon the blogging delay people.

I've been working hard to get a new website and book project released to you by February 13th.  Yes, the day before February 14th.  Yes, the day before the day better (or worse) known as Valentine's Day.

The book is about many things, some of which include sexuality, beauty, loneliness, hope, singleness, lust and Love.

Keep your eye-out - we're close!

I love sarcasm. I'm practically a "Daily Show"-o-phile. That's the show  where nearly every word that drips from John Stewarts mouth is laden with subtext. I used to watch SNL when David Spade was on there. The Hollywood Minute killed. 

But a few years back, my friend was deeply convicted that his sarcasm was getting in the way. He asked me (as a show of solidarity) to kindly consider not using sarcasm when I was around him - it would be too tempting to join in. Over the last several years, I've come to see what my friends sees: sarcasm does more damage than you think. Here are 5 reasons why:

 1. Sarcasm makes you look snarky.

I used to think it made others seem smart. Witty, even. A well-placed sarcastic comment can bring the house down, leaving someone else looking idiotic.

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Today my second son, Josiah, turns 17 years old.  Let me tell you a little about him:

Josiah is a very smart, witty, and charismatic man. He spent a long time fighting the best in himself, but about two years ago turned a major corner. When he was young, I used to joke that given his personality he would either be President of the United States or the greatest criminal mastermind the world has ever known. 

I was wrong.

I now think Josiah has the potential to launch a movement that can really change the status quo.

He has a deep love of music, and I think resonates with lyrics in a very deep way. On his wall in his bedroom is a painted tree, and for leaves, Josiah posts meaningful lyrics from songs he loves. He's not a "reader" like the rest of us. I think he's a lot more like his Oma than he realizes. He can be stubborn (like me) or playful (like his mom). And he's got two brothers who love him to pieces.

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He slipped his way into my morning coffee, and accidentally, he said, proceeded to spill onto pages of my morning reading.  Walk.  And now work.

The non-mom-voice keeps taunting me.  He did this when I was single, too.  Idiot.

Why don't you have babies yet? You've been married over a year.
Your clock is ticking. Your womb is wasting away.

At first I tried to ignore it, but somehow that only created deeper and more persistent taunts.

What's wrong with you?  What's wrong with your body?
Everyone else is.  And is wondering why you're not.

Feeling David-sized in my voice, up against a Goliath-sized pack of lies, I decided to attempt a response. 

You are wrong.  Your taunts and arguments are wrong. You clearly do not know my God.

Teary and uncomposed, I continued.

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Why did the last ornament cause that? Why did fitting a final shape into the box labeled "xmas decos" cause such upheaval? Typically such precision stimulates my pride and sense of control and accomplishment. 

This time it didn't. This time the perfectly organized and ready for the attic box elicited fear and emptiness.

Christmas is done. She had the baby. Now what?

The pregnancy of advent gave me a reason to wait. A tangible conclusion for which I was waiting. The story of Christmas lent reason to decorate and prepare and feast.

And then it happened. And then he was born; Immanuel, God with us.

We feasted more, savoring the gift. Presents and presence, nestled in knowing.

But then the time came. To leave the manger. To sweep-up remaining evergreen aromas. To box-up decorations of the Story.

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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.

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Stenches of weed and cigarettes opened the door for us. As did carols of margaritas crowded with tequila.

Neighbors invited us for Christmas this year. An honor in theory, and unarguable answer to prayer. Uncomfortable in reality, posing a wider scope of prayers. 

Interactions knew we were the minority. Chances for light shone pitch black. Hope felt vacant.

 

This culture is too far gone.

Love too far forsaken.

Let’s leave and go home.

Let’s let them come to us,

On our terms and with our ways.

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

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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.

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