I believe in December

I believe in December. I believe in gumdrop buttons holding together gingerbread men. I think highly of claymators. I look forward to tucking in Cindy Lou Who. I admire Mall Santa with his trampled lap. I pity the retail widows that support spouses enslaved to holiday retail. I think it is unjust that no one is on a first-name basis with Mrs. Claus. I believe in childlike wonderment looking out windows at weeping willows looking back at childlike wonderment. Both waiting for snow. I believe in Delilah After Dark and her right to tell callers, "You knucklehead, that was Santa" with no sense of irony. I strongly endorse championship sledriding, and trying to wear the tackiest ensemble on the hill because that is the makings of a true sledriding champion. I believe in falling in love with the same boy under a mistletoe as you did the year before. I believe in believing in the power of a baby boy in a manger to overcome a broken world. I love my cousins' faces when they unwrap white tube socks from Grandma. I love my Grandma's face when she watches her grandbabies feign the glads when they unwrap white tube socks. I fancy the diversity of tree decorations from one household to the next. I favor the holiday cards that we all know are complete bulllogna. I am not a fan of the spare tire I am carrying around right now. I am a huge fan of all the homemade cookies from which this spare tire was made. I believe in December and all of its trimmings. I am in overwhelm right now with grades and wrapping and remembering to go to the Dollar Store to buy the stupid plates in the right size for the pre-K Christmas party. But I believe in December and I will inhale and savor its 31 days. *** I believe in babies in boxes.

I believe in college campuses wasting electricity for the sake of holiday pretty.

I believe in hosting students for end-of-semester dinners.

I believe in visions of sugarplums dancing in baby boy's heads

Scroogin'

I've been waxing eloquent in my head about a post that I was going to deliver to you right here on this web interface tonight. It centered on the importance of the little things in this season, little drummer boys and little match girls, little kindnesses and little babies in mangers and that's the true meaning of Christmas, Charlie Brown.

But then I fell off the grumpy ladder and hit every rung on the way down.

I don't know what has gotten into me in the last couple of days. Perhaps I am absorbing my students' finals stress or perhaps I am just malcontent here in the month of December where I cannot plan my outfits because by mid-day I am still sweating like a piglet singing opera.

These feelings of agitation are unwelcome, but I am choosing to live authentically through this season. I will not fabricate feelings of joy or manufacture a pocket full of mirth. If we are being really honest here, I do not think the mother of our Lord and Savior was all that ecstatic to be nine months preggos riding a donkey when her husband had not even so much as booked a hotel on hotels.com in advance. Oh, but I kid.

On a serious note, though, we've been at this life in Tennessee for about half a year. Loverpants and I feel very hog-tied committed to our ministries at home and our ministries at the college. We are generally happy here even though our friend circle and our closet space and our entertainment channels have been downsized.

I would be lying, however, if I said that doing the Lord's work and being a part of a spiritual community can really be quite the ticket to Grumpville, population 1. I have had some conversations with God and other people in recent weeks where I have not had a right spirit.

But the Lord knows. He knows our weakness and He knows when, against the backdrop of twinkling stars and bright holiday lights, the flame in our heart is growing dim.

I need revival. I need to know that I am just passing through Grumpville. Like a cold stable, this is no place to camp for long.

Metaphor

My friend Selena sent me this picture. My new friend, Selena, whom I keep running into. Our surprise encounters are precisely timed, at church, at the pool, walking on the local path. Today, at the carousel downtown.

Selena snapped this picture of me and when I saw it, my chest sank.

This photo captures perfectly the metaphor of this season.

Because there I stand, firm, while the rest of the horses and smiles and oompa music whirs around me.  I am incongruous, not even supporting my baby on the pony bobbing up and down. She is dressed in her Halloween costume because I woke up thinking today was Halloween. And then I hauled her and her brother all over town wondering why no one else was in costume. I am smiling, waving like a homecoming queen, on a carousel, merry horses bobbing up and down around me, their heads arched forward, but never advancing further another inch.  I stand, I smile, I wave.

The flip am I doing?

What do I do each day?  Bounce around a room, point, yell, draw circles around words that form ledes that form ideas that form furrowed brows in the eyes of my audience.  Sit in my office, point, click, circle, sigh. Drive, arrive, pick up, put down, the horses and Matchbox cars and trains rumble around me. I stand firm, I wave, I smile.

I don't know what I am doing here, in the conserva-patch of this orbiting globe, in this season where I don't know if it is November yet and does it matter since I'm still sweating, in this body where I play grammar guru and puppeteer and kitchen witch and lover all in one day.

But I know I am supposed to be here.  The eyelashes on my eyes, hiding behind sunglasses, are all numbered.  Each and every encounter with each and every person here on the carousel is precisely known.  I will stand firm while the ponies bob and spin. I will smile and wave, and wonder who let me out of the house with those socks.