Autumn took a sharp turn into winter, and here in mid-November, the skies are gray, the trees are not quite bare, and there is an inch of persistent snow on the ground, turning to ice underneath repeated footsteps and tire tracks.
It is not yet Advent, but it feels like it. It is yet a waiting time. Early snow makes the heart anxious about long winters, makes the head forget that Thanksgiving comes before Christmas, makes the spirit eager to open the drapes, let the winter sunlight into the room, and huddle down with warm drinks and fleece-clothed babies and curious cats seeking a lap or a pair of feet for a long winter's nap.
Cozy is not quite the same as thankful, though both feel warming to the soul. Cozy is about loving the things that keep you warm. Gratitude is being aware of how your life would be different if those warm things were absent.
Cozy is thirty three years of holiday traditions; amazing how long one family can sustain so many practices. Cozy is the usual Thanksgiving abundance, cooked by the usual Thanksgiving cooks. It is mom making the mashed potatoes and doing the dishes. It is gingerbread houses and Thanksgiving night family walks, no matter how cold. Cozy is Christmas morning breakfast after church, six albums of Christmas choral music in the CD changer, serving as soundtrack to the blazing fire in the fireplace and orderly family gift-opening, youngest to oldest, one at a time, the coffee and glogg flowing freely.
Gratitude is realizing that this will be the year that all traditions go out the window. It is recognizing that the beauty of a shared feast and the beauty of Christ's birth are not dependent upon traditions to hold them up. Gratitude is looking at what is missing and seeing instead what is is vital. It is gathering in a new space for the Thanksgiving meal, and inviting the whole world to the feast, and many hands making their favorite things for an overflowing table. It is cherishing time spent together by the fire, no matter what the days ahead will bring. It is holding together the joy of the present moment with the grief over losing the past and the anxiety of an uncertain future.
Gratitude says, "I am here, right now, in this present moment, aware of this day, this conversaion, this meal, and because this moment exists, it is holy."
I preached a sermon a few years back about how God promises to break into our world with love and salvation - as indeed he did at the birth of Christ - but how we need to be prepared for the fact that this inbreaking will shake the whole foundation of the earth. There has to be death for there to be resurrection. The Bible talks about the former things passing away, and God's promise that all things will be made new.
It is an interesting step to take in my journey of faith. It is easy to preach and cling to a theology of hope and life and resurrection when your life hasn't yet been demanded of you. But staring into the face of change and loss and reconciling what used to be with what will be - and then still ending up in a place of resurrection! - is harder spiritual work.
Reynolds Price, in an interview about his book, A Whole New Life, criticized the way that the world supports us when we are going through times of change or loss or fear: "Everybody is in league to deny with us that the old life is ended; everybody is trying to patch us up and get us back to who we were, when in fact what we need to be told is, 'You're dead. Who are you going to be tomorrow?'"
Cozy is denying that change or pain or uncertainy exist. Gratitude is looking through death into resurrection, asking the question over and over again, "Who are you going to be tomorrow?" Gratitude is the practice of making holy the present moment, and making it holy again tomorrow, and the day after that, letting each morning be a resurrection that reminds us of what gifts we have, what losses we face, and the presence of God in the gap.
The snow continues to blow, and my heart is in Advent waiting for all that the rest of this blustery fall and winter will bring. I rejoice over the celebrations that will come my way, and the gifts of family and love and stuffing and Christmas hymns. I will keep close the Advent understanding that we are a people in waiting, who live between resurrection and second coming. I will plant my feet on God's snowy earth, even as I fully know that the earth will keep shaking until God is finished making all things new. It is November, it is cold, the earth outside is dying, but there is always resurrection ahead. For this, I will be grateful.
It is not yet Advent, but it feels like it. It is yet a waiting time. Early snow makes the heart anxious about long winters, makes the head forget that Thanksgiving comes before Christmas, makes the spirit eager to open the drapes, let the winter sunlight into the room, and huddle down with warm drinks and fleece-clothed babies and curious cats seeking a lap or a pair of feet for a long winter's nap.
Cozy is not quite the same as thankful, though both feel warming to the soul. Cozy is about loving the things that keep you warm. Gratitude is being aware of how your life would be different if those warm things were absent.
Cozy is thirty three years of holiday traditions; amazing how long one family can sustain so many practices. Cozy is the usual Thanksgiving abundance, cooked by the usual Thanksgiving cooks. It is mom making the mashed potatoes and doing the dishes. It is gingerbread houses and Thanksgiving night family walks, no matter how cold. Cozy is Christmas morning breakfast after church, six albums of Christmas choral music in the CD changer, serving as soundtrack to the blazing fire in the fireplace and orderly family gift-opening, youngest to oldest, one at a time, the coffee and glogg flowing freely.
Gratitude is realizing that this will be the year that all traditions go out the window. It is recognizing that the beauty of a shared feast and the beauty of Christ's birth are not dependent upon traditions to hold them up. Gratitude is looking at what is missing and seeing instead what is is vital. It is gathering in a new space for the Thanksgiving meal, and inviting the whole world to the feast, and many hands making their favorite things for an overflowing table. It is cherishing time spent together by the fire, no matter what the days ahead will bring. It is holding together the joy of the present moment with the grief over losing the past and the anxiety of an uncertain future.
Gratitude says, "I am here, right now, in this present moment, aware of this day, this conversaion, this meal, and because this moment exists, it is holy."
I preached a sermon a few years back about how God promises to break into our world with love and salvation - as indeed he did at the birth of Christ - but how we need to be prepared for the fact that this inbreaking will shake the whole foundation of the earth. There has to be death for there to be resurrection. The Bible talks about the former things passing away, and God's promise that all things will be made new.
It is an interesting step to take in my journey of faith. It is easy to preach and cling to a theology of hope and life and resurrection when your life hasn't yet been demanded of you. But staring into the face of change and loss and reconciling what used to be with what will be - and then still ending up in a place of resurrection! - is harder spiritual work.
Reynolds Price, in an interview about his book, A Whole New Life, criticized the way that the world supports us when we are going through times of change or loss or fear: "Everybody is in league to deny with us that the old life is ended; everybody is trying to patch us up and get us back to who we were, when in fact what we need to be told is, 'You're dead. Who are you going to be tomorrow?'"
Cozy is denying that change or pain or uncertainy exist. Gratitude is looking through death into resurrection, asking the question over and over again, "Who are you going to be tomorrow?" Gratitude is the practice of making holy the present moment, and making it holy again tomorrow, and the day after that, letting each morning be a resurrection that reminds us of what gifts we have, what losses we face, and the presence of God in the gap.
The snow continues to blow, and my heart is in Advent waiting for all that the rest of this blustery fall and winter will bring. I rejoice over the celebrations that will come my way, and the gifts of family and love and stuffing and Christmas hymns. I will keep close the Advent understanding that we are a people in waiting, who live between resurrection and second coming. I will plant my feet on God's snowy earth, even as I fully know that the earth will keep shaking until God is finished making all things new. It is November, it is cold, the earth outside is dying, but there is always resurrection ahead. For this, I will be grateful.